Hans' Fate
by Dragunov888
Summary: Hans has returned to his homeland. His father is at a loss. What do you do with a murderous, kingdom stealing son... that you love dearly. The Fate of Hans. Rated M for swearing and... other things.
1. Chapter 1- Homecoming

Hans resisted as the white uniformed guards dragged him down the castle hall. 2 weeks ago, these men would have saluted and bowed, for he was their prince. Now he was a stain on the Southern Isle's otherwise noble reputation. It was quite a spectacle as staff, guards and nobility alike lined the hall to see the disgraced prince, worst of all being his older brothers.

"Guards, halt." It was Johan, the 4th oldest. "Hello, King Hans of Arendelle" The older sibling said with a mocking smile. He proceeded to immediately force his fist into Han's stomach, causing intense pain.

"You little shit. Because of you, fur and timber costs in my Duchy has doubled, because you had to piss off the Snow Queen!" He finished with another punch, one that knocked the air out of him. "Guards, carry on." This was the third brother to do something similar. Since his downfall, the Southern Isles had a number of trade issues with Arendelle. While not maliciously jacking prices up, Queen Elsa had also not done much to discourage independent merchants from doing the same. As a result, many Arendellian merchants had equated Hans with his home kingdom, and punished them as a result.

The group continued down the hall, and Hans by this point had figured out where they were going. What terrified him was that they were not going to the dungeon, they were going to his father's study. None of the boys liked a visit to their father's study, as it almost always meant a spanking as toddlers, grounding and scolding as boys, and an ass chewing as teenagers and men. And that was for minor offenses. As he approached the study door, his oldest brother Alexander stood in the corner, pretending to read a book, in order to have an excuse to stand there.

Alexander, being the crown prince, had surely given and taken his fair share of brotherly beatings, but Alexander had figured out long ago that wits and sharp talk was far more effective in putting his brothers down, whether playfully for his liked brothers or more cruelly for the others. The sad thing was that Alexander had traditionally stuck up for the younger princes, not liking the middle brothers that endlessly tormented the younger and weaker boys.

So the simple stare of shame and disappointment from Alexander hurt far more than any of the beatings he had received today, with the calm but sharp phrase "Father is quite… _displeased, _little brother. And frankly _so am I." _sting like salt in his wounds. He closed the book and proceeded to walk by, leaving his youngest brother to his fate. Two guards who had been flanking the study door opened the door as the three moved through to the study.

Standing in the dimly lit room was his Father, King Frederick II. He had grey hair and sideburns, a gaunt face scared by wounds from the last Great War, and a white military uniform with decorations won on distant battlefields. He wore gloves as he was self-conscious of his wooden left forearm, which had been a necessary sacrifice to save his life from an infection caused by a musket round. The boys had learned about it, as it was their father's favorite way to correct them when they misused the word "sacrifice" around him.

His back was turned when they entered the room, and he did not turn when he began to speak.

"Guards, leave us." That was never a good sign. King Frederick may have let guards witness a scolding, but if the guards were ordered to leave, it meant at least a 30 minute ass chewing or beating.

"Did you know, King Agdar and served together during Napoleon's Wars?" He asked rhetorically. Hans knew better than to answer yes or no, he had been through this before. "Southern Island men and Arendellian troops went toe to toe with the French Imperial Guard on numerous occasions. We were boys then, younger than you." He paused, finally turning to see his son. "No matter what happened, we stood by each other."He began to slowly walk up to his son. "We stood… _together. _We were the descendants of the Vikings, and we dared not to retreat and leave our brothers to die. He was my best man at my wedding, and I was his." The King quietly extended the fingers on his wooden hand.

"He was a brother to me." Without warning and with a speed that was unexpected from a man as old as he, he whaled Hans face with the wooden hand, with a sharp crack.

"A relationship built with the blood, sweat and tears of our countrymen, a _trust _whose foundation lies on a graveyard in Belgium, was just destroyed by you." Another smack.

Hand was crying, with a bruise already forming. "I…"

The King finally exploded. "NO!" With his face red with anger and his right hand pointing deadly jabs at his son's face. "I WOULD HAVE DONE ANYTHING FOR THAT MAN AND HIS FAMILY! ANYTHING!" This time it wasn't a slap, but a wooden fist. "A QUEEN THAT IS MY GODDAUGHTER, AND I HAD TO SCRAPE, AND BEG TO EVEN MAINTAIN DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS!" Another fist.

Frederick paused, calming down, and ceasing to shout. "Family, blood or otherwise is everything Hans. I lost that family because of you." Hans openly sobbing openly with blood running from an open cut caused from his father's wooden fist. "You never give up on family."

Unexpectedly, his Father embraced his youngest son, barely containing his tears. "God boy, I thought I lost you." His right hand brushing through his son's copper hair, he squeezed hard. "I thought they were going to kill you." The King paused, removing himself from his son. The cold, calm father had returned.

"And they had _every right _to do so." He returned his hands to behind his back. "When that messenger bird arrived, I cut you off. I told them that you had acted on your own, and that if they pursued justice, The Southern Isle's would not retaliate in any way. I did say I'd rather if you faced our justice."

"What will happen to me?" Hans said, tentatively. He usually dared not interrupt his father's scolding, but he _had _to know his fate.

His father paused for but a few seconds, but to Hans it lasted minutes. "I don't know son. You are my boy, even if you have destroyed our relations with Arendelle. But you will be dealt with." With barely any emotion, he simply stated "Guards." Two soldiers entered the door, snapping to attention.

"Take Hans to the dungeon while I decide what to do."

"Yes Sir."

Whereas before he had fought out of spite, Hans let himself be dragged as his spirit had been crushed. His father had always been one for titles, and as such, he _always _used them when they applied. Even as children, he had always called his sons Prince. For him to refer to him as Hans instead of Prince Hans was no mistake. He may have not done it officially, but he had just disowned his youngest son.

…

It was a week before the door to the cell finally opened, revealing several Guardsmen with manacles.

"You are coming with us, Hans."

"Where too?"

The Guard smiled cruelly. A peasant born, he respected the pay and status, not the royal family. "A Bath and meal."

Hans recoiled in horror. According to their law a prisoner always was bathed and fed a decent last meal before… execution. He knew his father loved him, but his father had always stressed consequences. He knew his father would execute him if he felt he deserved it.

"No, NO!" Hans screamed as the soldiers grabbed the former prince and dragged him out of the cell.

…

He had fought the bath, but by the time his meal was served, consisting of his favorite foods and sandwiches, he at least partook in the food. He only had to be offered the food. Any refusal would merely quicken his demise. As he finished, the Guards dragged him to his feet and led him to the hall. While being escorted, he glanced out the window into the castle courtyard. A major military installation, soldiers drilled and trained in the courtyard. As he scanned, a sight filled him with terror. A platform stood, as it had always stood, except now it had a single noose dangling from the support beam, with an executioner standing by.

"No, No! NO! NO!" Hans screamed and fought as his mechanism of death filled him with terror, causing the Guards to resume dragging the kicking and screaming prince. "NOT LIKE THIS!"

The Guards led him to the main entrance, where he continued to fight, as Hans was terrified of the concept of hanging. They opened the door, where Hans' struggling and sudden burst of natural sunlight caused Hans to not see his father and the small group gathered to meet him.

"Well, _that's_ attractive."

Hans paused. He knew his father of course, as well as his older brother Josef, but the women who just sarcastically mocked him he had never seen before, even though she was dressed as a noblewoman.

The guards let go, causing Hans to be utterly confused. This is not how executions worked.

"I don't understand…" Josef chuckled, leading even his father to join his younger brother in confusion. Preempting his father's eventually inquiry, He began to explain.

"Your Majesty, I may have given the Guards _slightly _different orders than what you ordered me."  
The King understood at once. "You ordered them to prepare him for execution."

Josef began to burst out laughing. He had always been that way. The second youngest, Josef like Hans had not inherited any land, instead he entered full course into the army, leading to his current post as Captain of the Guard. Tall, well built, and with a normally grave and serious face to match his decorated white officer uniform, all of which betrayed his true nature. After many a lost fight, Josef figured out the best way to get back at his brothers was practical jokes and ploys. A born trickster, with the pranks leading to vastly disproportionate losses compared to the beating, the older brothers stopped messing with him. Not that the minor pranks stopped of course.

Recovering from the laughing fit, he regained his composure, and bowed to his father. "Your majesty, if you'll excuse me?" The King, while not a fan of Josef's jokes, could hardly be upset considering the massive military implications and setbacks Josef had to deal with due to strained relations with Arendelle. "Granted, Major." Josef returned to attention, clicked his heels together, before turning about and walking off while placing his cap back onto his red haired head, letting out another chuckle.

"So, you are wondering why you are here. I'll clarify that now." He turned and gestured to the woman. She wore a simple navy blue dress with white facings, with a face that was hardly memorable. Her hair was brown, done up into a simple plain bun. She carried a pair of books that she grasped with white silk gloves. And she had a nervous but dismissive expression on her plain face.

"Hans, meet Lady Johanna of Kurzheim."

Kurzheim was the smallest Island in the kingdom, only ruled by a lord. It had a few thousand people, a small port and a few local cottage industries. Isolated, it was too easy for the Lord and Lady of the Island to rarely visit the capital, which would explain how he had never seen Lady Johanna before, but what did she have to do with anything?

"Hans, I have figured out what to do with you. First and foremost, I have decreed that you are no longer in the line of succession, but your future sons and daughters are. Second, you are now forbidden to ever leave the Southern Isle's without my express permission."_ So far, so good, but that doesn't explain…_

"And lastly, you are to marry Lady Johanna. As her father has sadly passed away, a man that I owe a debt to. I told him I would find a match for his daughter. As such, he will be the grandfather of Princes and possibly Kings."

Hans shuddered. Kurzheim was poor, dirty, and cold. Its garrison was considered a penal unit for minor offenses, and it struggled to maintain a profit for the Kingdom. It was the perfect place to send someone to ensure they didn't cause any more trouble. It was only a step above exile.

"Naturally, you are not to leave unless summoned to the Capital, which I will tell you right now boy, will not be very often." King Frederick walked up and patted his son on the shoulder, before smiling devilishly. "What's wrong son, it's a happy day- you're getting married in a week!"

Bit of Notes- As the original version had a few continuity errors, I re-released this chapter changing the battle Agdar and Frederick was at to Ligny and Waterloo, during the Napoleonic war. Sorry for the Retcon.


	2. Chapter 2- A Happy Day

Arendelle Docks

"Must you _really _go?" Anna whined for the twentieth time today as Elsa strode down the dock, accompanied by her Guards.

Elsa sighed, starting to become quite irritated. "Yes, Anna. I have to do this." As annoyed as her sister's pestering was, Elsa hardly blamed her sister for her anxiety, for several reasons. First, boat travel and this family did not historically end well. Second, Anna was expected to assume the royal duties while she was gone. And third, easily the biggest reason, Elsa was visiting the _Southern Isles_ of all places.

"But why?"

"Because this is my fault." Perhaps not the best words to say.

"Excuse me? Hans attempts to murder both of us and steal our kingdom, and it's YOUR fault?"

Elsa paused, trying to word the situation in the best way. "Yes, Hans was a bastard. But, the Southern Isles swore they had nothing to do with it, and yet I acted in anger. I made King Frederick beg for normal relations, which embarrassed him greatly." Anna looked at Elsa in confusion, not grasping the importance of the situation.

"Look, many people here in Arendelle still equate The Southern Isles with Hans, and have been increasing prices or not doing business with them at all. The best way to assure them and stabilize relations is for me to go to Southern Isles on a goodwill tour." Anna, started to grasp the situation but still lacked the vital information Elsa did.

"But why? We have other trade partners than Weselton and the Southern Isles. Why do we need to?"

Elsa sighed, finally deciding to tell her the truth. "For Papa's sake."

Anna grew pale with a shocked expression. "What?"

"You were too young to remember, and for the most part so was I. But our father and King Frederick were very close when they were younger, to the point that he is my godfather. I forgot that shortly after the Great Thaw. I owe it to Papa to stabilize relations"

Anna nodded, understanding before snapping back into irritated and defensive mode. "But what if it's dangerous? It could be a trap. If only one of his brothers is like him, it could be fatal!"

Elsa smiled, placing her hand on her shoulder to reassure her sister. "Don't worry, I would not have left without a sizable armed escort, which King Frederick has graciously permitted to take, understanding my caution."

Anna was still skeptical, but finally nodded, give her sister her blessing to undertake the voyage. She light up again, impulsively making a decision. "But I'm coming too!"

Elsa recoiled, stunned. "What? No!" She unclasped her hands, breaking her calm demeanor and beginning to raise her voice and gesture at her sister. "I need you HERE, to help the Prime Minister."

"Nah, he'd be happier and less stressed without me here. I need to keep you company and out of the drama place!" Elsa paused realizing that she was right in both counts, not sure how to respond.

Anna laughed, slapping Elsa on the shoulder. "Come on, It'll be an adventure!" Elsa sighed, signaling a Guard to run a message to inform the Ministers. _I hope so Anna, I do hope so._

…

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles

"Presenting Queen Elsa, of Arendelle!" The horns sounded as Elsa gracefully was led off the boat by her Guards. Everything about today was a statement planned days in advance. Her Guards were wearing the newest issue uniform, a drab green wool uniform, following many European armies of beginning to discard bright uniforms for duller and easier to produce uniforms. In addition the cumbersome Shako had been replaced with soft service caps.

They also carried new revolvers and slung Dreyse Needle rifles to symbolize Queen Elsa investing heavily on a stronger, modernized Arendelle Army. With these weapons and modern cartridge pouches and belts, they certainly looked cutting edge.

Even Elsa had carefully planned out her outfit. She left her ice dress behind and wore a concealing dress bearing her nation's colors of purple and green. She also wore her gloves. It wasn't that she did not have control over her powers, it was a simply a show. Looks mattered today, and while Elsa hated the damn things, she had to appear as non-hostile as possible.

She also wore her crown, another item she preferred to go without, but wore for the sake of appearances. Waiting for her was King Frederick and Major Josef, Captain of the Guard. Both bowed as she stepped of the gang plank.

"Your Majesty, welcome to the Southern Isles." He gestured down the dock, leading towards the castle. Queen Elsa nodded, and proceeded to follow the two down the dock. Before they could begin to converse, a shouted "Wait for Me!" startled the two men, but hardly fazed the Queen. It was Anna, sprinting down the dock, up to her sister before settling next to her sister, fidgeting as she recognized the older man as the King.

The King was puzzled. "Princess Anna? I did not expect you to come as well. I specifically did not send you an invitation due to… _past events_."

"Well, I go where my sister goes." Anna said, a matter of factly but awkwardly. "So what are we doing while we're here?"

"Well, we planned a quick ceremony with reporters and the new cameras. After that there is a wedding along with the reception. We do not wish to keep Queen Elsa here too long away from her duties, so the third day is a day of rest, with a ship ready to take her home that evening."

Queen Elsa nodded. "I get the feeling that you want me gone as soon as possible."

King Frederick smiled. _Agdar didn't raise a fool. _"To be honest Queen Elsa, you are not the only one that finds this awkward. I still remember you as the girl I bounced on my knee. And now I have to beg you for forgiveness."

Elsa nodded as they continued to stroll down the walkway. "I should have remembered those days in the immediate aftermath of the Great Thaw. I admit mistakes were made."

"Cleary, Queen Elsa. Just as I made a mistake as to what son to represent me at your coronation."

Anna was bored. As far a she could tell, it was just two people sucking up to each other. She rolled her eyes and prepared to speak, before Elsa sent her a chilling glare. Leaning in she whispered "This is diplomacy, just stay quiet, and let me do the talking."

Anna rolled her eyes again. Maybe she _should_ have stayed back in Arendelle.

…

The first day had gone smoothly, the only hiccup being the photographs. While Elsa had had a photo taken of her at the Coronation, she had expected and braced for it. At the ceremony she had not expected the flash and small explosion as each of the series of cameras had gone off. It turns out it was a good thing she was wearing the gloves, or she might have given King Frederick frostbite.

Other than that it was a simple ceremony. A new treaty was signed, helping bring relations hopefully back to normal, and the amount of reporters would hopefully mean that the merchants of Arendelle would stop setting unfair prices for exports. There was a banquet, which security was tricky. The Guard Sergeant in charge of the detail, (Ironically named Hans) had insisted that her servants cook Queen Elsa's food. This didn't sit well with either the Chef or Major Josef. A compromise was struck where a guard would monitor the cooks and the Queen and King would share the same cooks. To avoid further trouble, Elsa simply conjured Ice water instead of wine.

Afterwards, to demonstrate trust in their Arendelle allies, King Frederick asked her to demonstrate her ice powers. Nervous, Elsa only performed a few simple tricks, afraid that a major stunt might backfire or harm someone. Luckily, Anna was there to back up Elsa and reassure her.

One thing that no-one did, not even Anna, was talk or ask about the Elephant in the room- Prince Hans. He was not mentioned by any of the royal family. Six brothers were there, and another two mentioned, but the King simply explained that the "other brothers", not even given a number at five, were "away." Considering the damage he had caused, it appeared to Elsa that everyone wanted to forget about Hans.

Elsa slumped as she entered the room, removing her gloves and tiara and falling down on the bed to remove her heels. She had to wait for 30 minutes outside the door as the Guards "cleared" her room of danger, and then attempted to tidy up. In terms of the latter, well… there's a reason Guards don't double as servants. It was neat, but many of the things there out of place, overly straightened or oddly organized. The room was ready for a Sergeant's inspection, not a Queen.

Since Servants had brought their luggage up early, that too was inspected, so when Elsa attempted to open her suitcase for a nightgown, all she found was a series of neatly rolled clothing articles. Socks, Underwear, Gowns, dresses, gloves, everything was an identical roll.

Elsa sighed. _I'll need to establish a new security protocol when I return to Arendelle. _Before she could begin to undress the door flew open, as Anna bound into the room and Leaped onto the bed. The bounce promptly lifted Elsa into the air and caused her luggage to spill onto the floor. Luckily, her security had swept before leaving or her clothing would have dirt, dust, and boot polish on it.

Anna laughed as she sat up, looking around the room. "Where's my bed?"

"You're sitting on it."

"Where's _your bed." _Anna asked, already knowing the answer.

Queen Elsa sighed. "You're sitting on it."

"WHAT?!"

"They only prepared one bedroom for us because they only knew that I was coming. And they were not able to get another on such short notice due to the stupid wedding. Half of the Southern Isle's is here."

"But Elsa, we never shared beds for a reason! You're cold as ice when you fall asleep!"

"It's too late now, besides, we don't have enough Guardsmen to guard two rooms. They have 2 hour shifts throughout the night as is."

"Ugghh." Anna fell back onto the bed. _And I didn't pack winter wear._

…

Elsa and Anna shuffled down the pew, mere minutes before the ceremony was to start. As a sign of goodwill, they were seated next to King. Once again, he had no issue with Queen Elsa taking precaution. Sergeant Hans and three others were inside, unarmed of course as it was a church, on look out. Elsa was not too terribly worried as all she had to do was take off her gloves and she would be armed, they were simply looking out for trouble. The other six were outside, armed and in pairs at the entrances, paired with their counterparts from the Southern Isles.

As they sat down, they were greeted by the King. Preempting the eventual question, Queen Elsa apologized. "I'm sorry King Frederick, but we took longer to get ready that expected." She whispered out as she shot a glare at Anna.

"What?" Anna whispered defensively.

"It's _your_ fault we're late."

"I wouldn't have needed so much time to get ready if I wasn't wearing 3 layers of clothes in bed!"

"Quiet!" This time is was the King. Diplomacy or no Diplomacy, he did not suffer childish bickering.

As they settled in the wooden seats, Anna looked up at the altar. Nobody had arrived yet except the priest.

"Elsa, who's getting married again?"

"Let me check." she pulled out a program. "Huh. The Lord of Kurzheim, Lord Hans."

"_What!"_

"Relax, Hans is a common name here. And that Hans was a Prince. There is no way Hans was the Lord of a backwater like-"

At that moment a number of Southern Isle's soldiers came in through the main entrance, quickly marching to the altar, taking the place of the best men. One was an actual officer, the rest were common soldiers.

_That's strange. Why would-_

Then a face that neither would ever have wanted to see again, came strolling down the aisle, accompanied by two guards. Elsa's heart froze as Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles took the place of the groom. Elsa could feel the inside of her gloves freeze to ice, as she began to have a panic attack. A flashback of a broken Queen on the ice, sobbing, as a merciless sword came down to end her life.

Anna did her best to calm her down, while attempting to get through her own panic attack. A study with all the lights and fires being extinguished, a cold room, with a cold man with an even colder plan of murder and succession. A love extinguished as surely as the candles and fireplace.

In between breaths, Elsa demanded information. "What… is… _HE… _doing here!"

King Frederick placed his hand on her shoulder, uncaring as his wooden hand turned to ice. "I _assure you, _Queen Elsa, I will explain _everything _in time. Just relax and enjoy the wedding."

Trusting the King, she tried to relax, but every time she looked up through the ceremony, she could only see the gaze of hatred emanating from the Princes' eyes.

…

As soon as the carriage began to roll, both sisters began to demand answers from the King, however Anna was the one he heard.

"What is Hans doing here!? You said you dealt with him, you said he was punished!"

King Frederick shouted for the first time since the two arrived. "ENOUGH!" He paused, returning to a quiet but stern voice. "I _did_ deal with him, and he _has_ been punished"

"How is being made a Lord and given lands a punishment?" Anna demanded to know as Anna tried to reign her sister in.

"Tell me Princess Anna, have you ever head of Kurzheim?"

Anna stopped, thinking back of all the geography lessons she slept through. "No, but I bet Elsa could tell you all about it!"

Elsa placed her hand of Anna's forearm, a subtle message to let her handle this. "Actually, Anna, I only remember Kurzheim as a footnote in the geography of the Southern Isles. I never knew it was its own lordship." The admittance of a lack of knowledge on Elsa's part baffled Anna. Elsa _never _slept or day dreamed in class…

"Exactly. With 5000 people and 3 villages, a small fishing and wool industry, and poor weather conditions and its remoteness, Kurzheim is hardly a place anyone wants to go."

"I see, but why give him a lordship, even a remote one, instead of a prison cell?" Elsa asked, as politely as possible.

"Well, for several reasons. First and foremost, he is my son, no matter what's he's done. And what is it you said about family last night?"

Anna sighed. "You never give up on family."

"Exactly. Second, I know my son." The comment caused him to receive cold stares from the two ladies. "Well, somewhat. The point is, my son craves respect and attention, more than anything. No matter who it is, he has to be respected."

"So?"

"Think about the… incident. How did Hans handle himself when he effectively ran Arendelle for a day?"

Elsa nodded, beginning to see the King's angle, while Anna scoffed. Elsa admitted "According to the dignitaries and ministers, he actually ran Arendelle with efficiency."

"Yes, he did. Even to remote farmers and fishermen, he _has _to be respected. He will not slack or neglect his duties, he may even actually put Kurzheim on the map. In addition, I have taken… steps to ensure Hans never does something like this again."

"How so?"

"First, he is forbidden from leaving the Southern Isles without my explicit permission. Second He is forbidden from travelling to the capital without my permission. Both the Royal Navy and Merchant Marine have been informed of this. Third, I have marked him as incapable of inheritance."

"How does that work? Wouldn't that make him worthless to marry?" Anna asked what Elsa thought.

"Any children would still be grandchildren of the King. I have clarified to the Royal Genealogist that only Hans is incapable of succession, any children will be treated as any other grandchild will."

Elsa nodded her head in agreement. "I see, make him marriable, but incapable of murdering his way to the top."

"Fourth, I have a… shall we say… trusted man on the ground to keep an eye on things. A man that for various reasons can never be bought or blackmailed by Hans to serve him. Whose whole job is to watch Hans, and report it to me. Any mischief, and it will be the noose this time."

Elsa and Anna shuddered. A chilling thought. Elsa however, quickly had another thought.

"King Frederick, I have to ask, why the public wedding?" It was a loaded question. But King Frederick grasped the full weight of it.

"Ah, Yes. Well, I do not believe in hiding from judgment. Yes, many, including you disagree with my admittedly lenient treatment of my son, even though he is an attempted murderer. I will not hide my actions however. I ensured that the whole of the Southern Isle's know I spared my son. That is my burden to bear. I will also justify it as I believe it's best for the Kingdom to keep him alive. I see Kurzheim as a prison of its own. A prison of Isolation, responsibility and burden. And I know my son. This is a challenge, from me, and since it's his Duchy, his older brother Alexander." He paused as the Carriage arrived at the reception banquet. A Southern Isle soldier opened the door, saluting in anticipation for the King's exit from the carriage.

"And if there's one thing I know my son craves more than anything, even power- It's the respect of myself and his oldest brother."

…

"Let it Go, Hans."

Hans gave his best, and now, only friend in the world a glare. It was his best man, Lieutenant Colonel Oleg Schwarzkopf. As Hans was given a command in the military as was customary for all princes, he served with him during the last minor war. Neither really saw action, but it was a bonding experience. At least, for Oleg. Like just about everyone else, Hans considered Oleg expendable. At least he used to.

Friendless, out casted, and disgraced, a man so loyal to still honor that friendship, well you don't throw that away. Oleg was like a faithful hound in that way. To the point he personally wrote the King to ask to serve as commander of the Kurzheim garrison, when he had just been offered a more prestigious command.

"Seriously, you lost. Hating the Snow Queen and being bitter at the world won't solve anything." Oleg may be loyal, but he was brutally honest. He didn't know it yet, but this would be a treasured quality in the coming years for Hans.

"My own father, would rather sit with… _that witch_, than with me."

Oleg sipped wine. "He has to. Diplomacy, and all that shit. Plus let's face it, he owes the Ice Queen."

"How?"

"She could have sent a piece of you to each of your twelve brothers. I would have if I was her."

"I don't understand you Oleg. Why are here, with me?"

Oleg stopped to think, before answering. "Because, even if you are a little shit, who tried to murder two young women in colder blood than the Ice Queen, I am still your loyal friend. Through thick and thin. You stood by me then, I'll stand with you now, even if I never see full Colonel."

Hans stopped to look at his "Friend." Of average build, Oleg was by no means handsome. He had crooked teeth, a number of scars and dirty black hair on his head and his trimmed beard. His eyes were a muddy brown that reminded Hans of a dog's. The only reason he made it this far, was that a younger Hans gave his father a good report on him when he was a naval officer, and Oleg had never forgotten that.

Han's returned his attention to the reception. Unlike normal, two separate tables of honor had been set up. One for the "happy couple" where himself, Oleg, his wife, and her bridesmaids all sat. The other sat the King, some of his brothers, and the guests of honor- The Queen and Crown Prince of Arendelle. This was a wedding reception in name only. He had been told by Oleg that there was to be no toasts regarding Hans, or the "happy couple" in general. There would be a first dance and the tossing of the bouquet, but that was about it. This reception was far more about his father and the Queen of Arendelle than him. More of them being seen together, more handshakes, maybe even a dance together. All to paint a pretty picture of peace.

Such horse shit. If he had succeeded, and his family found out the lengths he went to get that crown without it going public, his father, Alexander, maybe a few others would have cared. Most of them didn't give a damn about Elsa and Anna. They were just upset because increased fur prices, or more paperwork involved in Arendelle threat assessments. They hated him because they looked bad. Only Father and Alexander cared about the friendship of a dead man, King Agdar.

…

It was the first dance, and the first time they had done anything intimate. During the ceremony the "You may kiss the bride" was dropped, as everyone knew it was a political marriage. They had touched the first time to exchange rings, and that was it. Hans however, was a charmer. He would win her over.

Putting on a similar smile to the time he met naïve Anna, he greeted her. "My Lady."

She smiled back. "Shut up."

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't walk into this blindly. I know about Arendelle, I know about Princess Anna. I know you."

"Well that's not fair, you know so much about me, and I know so little about you, my Lady."

"I don't care. You serve one purpose to me. You put your seed in my womb, so If play my cards right, I could be the Queen Mother. There is no love between us."

The song ended, and the tow returned to their seats. Lady Johanna unflinchingly tucked herself back in and returned to small talk with her Maid of Honor. Hans sat down, uneasy over his previous conversation. To his left, Oleg chuckled. "I guess your father is a better matchmaker than I thought!"

"What are you talking about?"

"She's just like you. Determined, Calculating, power hungry and cold. You could even say she…"

"Don't you fucking say it Oleg."

"Has a Frozen Heart, like you!"

Hans let his head fall onto his open palm. If there was one thing he despised about Oleg, it was that the man loved puns way too damned much. Ever since Oleg had paroled him days before, it had been one cold related pun after another. "Are you sure you don't have cold feet? Don't give me the cold shoulder. You're lucky they didn't give you the cold steel." He was sick of it.

It was going to be a long exile.

…

A bit of notes.

Dear god that was a lot of talking. Pretty much I wrote this chapter to explain and clarify exactly why King Frederick II did what he did, instead of doing what seems to be everyone else's two choices- Jail/execute Han's, or send him to be a servant or aid to Arendelle. This is not a Helsa. Period. Ever. On that note, get ready to say goodbye to Queen Elsa and Princess Anna. You are not going to see them for quite a while. The next many chapters are going to be exactly what I advertised. Hans on an Island, trying to turn it around. No wacky adventures, no evil schemes to murder them, nothing. While Hans still hates them he needs a foundation to stand on first. What'll happen if/when he gets that foundation, well, we'll find out…


	3. Chapter 3- Landfall

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles.

Hans stepped off the small ship onto the dock, before stopping to take it all in. Kurzheim. The docks where small, sad, and in ill repair. The sky was grey, the air chill and wet. What dirt he could see was grey and full of clay, with only weeds and marsh plants growing here and there. The small fleet of fishing ships, while tough, were clearly old, meaning the fishermen had prolonged their life well past what they should have. In short, everything he had heard about Kurzheim, was true.

A crashing sound caused his hairs to stand on end, as he turned as saw the porters knock one of his chests over, dangerously close to the water.

"Be careful with that you fool!" Hans was greedy, but he was practical. If it was his clothes, he could have cared less, but that chest was one of a number that included Hans' capital. Since he was a boy, Hans had invested and saved heavily, pouring much of his Princely allowance into various ventures and saving accounts. Amazingly, these accounts where not frozen or seized. As a result, when Hans left for Kurzheim, he brought some of it with him. Hans was cautious, and did not bring it all in one trip for fear of ship wreck or piracy.

Hans understood economics and capitalism very well, he was not one to stockpile cash and gold to merely look at it. He was going to need every_ krone _to invest in and upgrade the island. Not that he was a philanthropist. Put enough money into the island, find _something _of value and churn it out, make money, and as a result, get money back. Maybe even make more than he had. He just had to find… _something. Anything._

The Porters lifted the chest back onto the cart, and continued up the dock. They had been briefed on what to do. Take all the luggage to the manor. Easy as pie. Always cautious, Hans accompanied them to the manor. The manor, his future home was to be the heart of his new little empire. The first changes and reforms would be there, then circulate to the far corners of the island.

…

To call it a manor was a crime. It was a throwback to an earlier era, when an armored knight in chainmail was cutting edge. The small stone keep was surrounded by a stone wall, built to keep thieves and animals out, not armies. A few outbuildings had been built as time went on, but these were simple brick and wood buildings, built for cost, not for appearance. The manor's animals wandered about freely, and one had to be careful where he stepped.

_Time to get to work._

He directed the porters to leave the chests inside the keep's main hall, as he walked carefully towards the kitchen. Built as annex to the Keep, it was where the first changes were to be made. He had directed his steward to prepare all staff for inspection, so they were waiting for him.

He opened the door, causing a number of cooks and kitchen staff to scramble from minor tasks and chairs to a single rank. Like soldiers waiting for an inspection, they stood at attention- silent, unmoving, and not daring to do anything that might draw attention. They all knew what was coming. A purge. New lords always like trimming staff, and the maids and servants were the first to go.

Hans eyed his new kitchen staff. Ordered in seniority, the first on his left was the head chef. Unlike most of the others, he was calmed and relaxed. A large round Frenchman, he had been brought in by the last Lord to cook delicacies and fine foods. Just one way to make life here a bit more bearable.

"What's your name good sir?" Hans asked with a calm, polite expression. He already knew the answer.

"Gaston, my lord."

"What qualifications do you have to run my kitchen, Chef?"

"My Lord, I have served in kitchens across Europe, including Versailles. I was trained by the finest chefs in Europe. I can make food fit for kings."

"What's your salary, good chef?"

"2500 Krone a month. A great deal for someone of my talent."

_That explains why the kitchen expenses were so high. _"I see. You're fired." Without pausing, he walked down to the next man, a thin gaunt man. He had blond hair and light blue eyes that had seen more than most in his profession.

"What's your name?"

"Sous Chef Hauser, my lord." He had a clear, grave German accent.

"What's your qualifications?"

"Only an incomplete culinary education and years of working here, my lord."

"What's the story behind that, Hauser?"

The German tugged at his collar, sweating profusely. Good, he wasn't arrogant. The man feared for his job.

"My lord, when I was in school, a revolution broke out in my state. Being a young, stupid boy, I joined the revolt. It failed. I had to flee Germany to avoid the hangman. I ended up here."

"What's your salary?"

"750 Krone a month."

"I see. You're the new chef. You'll be informed of your raise within a week." He left the visibly relieved German, to walk up and down kitchen.

"You all know who I am. You all know what I did. Know one thing, and know it well." He paused, smiling. "My favorite food is sandwiches. I don't need a large staff. I have no problem firing all of you. Show me a reason to keep you."

Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room, smiling. He may not be the King, but he was the certainly King of his island.

…

Hans closed the door behind him, taking off his jacket before kicking his boots off. It had been a long day, first inspecting his entire staff and then reviewing finances. 11 people had been fired today, and judging by the expense report, 4 more would have to be fired within the next month. For that he intended to use his heads of staff to trim incompetence from their teams. It had been productive. He thought about the purge, and the new leadership.

Of course he remembered Chef Richard Hauser. He had learned later that the cook had a wife and children, hence his commitment to his job. He had heard a tale from the other staff of a hard-working man who worked his way up from kitchen boy to Sous Chef. More importantly, he could always threaten to ship him back to Germany with a tip as to who he was. He could easily be threatened. He very well might do.

Second was Klara. The head of servants, the elderly woman had served the Lords of Kurzheim since she was a little girl. No one knew the keep like her. She was useful as many of her former masters had risen to higher posts since that point. And she knew their secrets, dirty and clean. For the right price, Klara would be glad to tell her new Lord what she knew. Whether for Blackmail or to be the perfect Host, Klara was invaluable.

Third was Rolf. Replacing the previous chief groundskeeper, Hans knew little about the large mysterious man. It was his job to correct the sorry state of repairs in the estate, as well as manage the Garden, Stable and Tool Shop. He saw no reason to get rid of Rolf, but no reason to keep him on. He'd see how he do.

Most important was his Steward, Wagner. Hans had relied on the man a long time. Ruthless, cold, brilliant and most importantly of all, Loyal. The Steward was the right hand man of any ruler, the man who ensured things got done. Wagner was a mercenary that Hans had hired back in his teens, initially as his bodyguard. As time went on, Hans gave him increased responsibilities, as he noticed he was quite intelligent for a man of his education, leading the Prince to take him under his wing.

He had done well and had proven to be competent and loyal. As such, a Stewardship was his appointment. Wagner was short but strong, with Black hair and would have had a common unremarkable face, if not for the facial scars common in his profession. He kept a cleanly shaven appearance, and had gladly taken to wearing fine suits, after years of wearing the rags of a mercenary.

Hans slid into bed, attempting to drift off into sleep. But as always, he couldn't. His mind wandered back to that snowy summer day.

_Oh Anna, if only there was someone out there that loved you…_

Such stupidity. If only he had not bragged.

…

Fritz stood at attention as the Corporals made their way up and down the line with their batons, "Correcting" deficiencies as they saw fit. He was corrected moments earlier with a crack of the baton as his gut stuck out too much. This was the way of the armies of Europe. Discipline was everything, and with no fear there was no discipline.

He wore the "white" uniform of his country, the Southern Isle, although to be fair, it was more similar in color to a coffee stain. Like all other men here, he was conscripted during the last mass draft. Unlike most here, he was actually from Kurzheim. Most of his comrades where recruited from stockades and military prisons, as Kurzheim was a "Safe" place to put undesirable soldiers.

Still in initial training, Fritz was under much more considerate lock down and training. They were due to be issued their rifles today, a considerable step towards being considered true soldiers. Initial training was rather short, as the leadership felt that it was a waste of time to drill the soldiers too much as they were unlikely to see combat.

"Kompanie! Ach-tung!" It was their drill instructor, Sergeant Wulfhart. He had been brutal on them, but was a fair man. A Prussian Veteran of the previous war, he felt it was his duty to prepare the men as much as possible. He had ended up here after a baton cracked the jaw of a Lord's son on another Island.

"You vorthless arshloches are to be inspected by ze Lord today. If you embarrass your country, your uniform, or vurs of all embarrass me, I vill beat you to death!" He made his way down the line, looking for yet more deficiencies. Unlike the first day, he only had to stop every few men. "EYES FRONT!" Crack. "GUT IN!" A thrust with the baton. "FEET TOGETHER!" A kick to the shin. He came up to Fritz, who overly exaggerated the act of sucking his gut in. The Prussian paused, smiling. "_Now _ve're learning_, kinder!"_

"You vill be presented before Lord Hans, so you vill receive your muskets. Afterwards, I vill drill you filth so you are ready to be seen by Lord Hans. RIGHT FACE! Vorwärts Marsch!"

…

Lord Hans watched as his Battalion Passed in Review. It was a mixed affair. Most were sloppily trained in drill, and it showed here. Men out of step, incorrect uniforms, and other tell-tale signs of a crappy army. All except for the training platoon. Those men made minor mistakes, but marched past with a discipline unseen in the other formations. Led by a German Sergeant still wearing the Prussian blue, they marched by, in step and in steady ranks.

Hans turned to Oleg. "Why are the new recruits marching better than the line companies?"

"Well, firstly the line companies hardly drill. Secondly, the Sergeant leading the Training platoon is a new arrival. Broke the Lord of Eifelheim's son's jaw because he wasn't at proper attention."

Hans chuckled. "Well, whatever he's doing, it's working. I'd make changes to the garrison, but I need a strong economy before I can make a strong army. Keep him where he's at. Start making assessments Oleg. When the time comes, I need to know who to keep."

"Of course, my lord."

…

"Good Job _kinder, _keep it up and I vill make _soldat _out of you yet!"

The group smiled, appreciating the minor complement from the man. As much as they feared and hated him initially, they had come to respect the Sergeant and craved to impress the man. The Sergeant had a small smirk on his face, clearly pleased with his men.

"You march better zan any of ze other filth on zat parade square. Zat's damn good." His smile faded and returned to his trademark scowl. "But still Prussian _Landwehr _march better zan you dumkopfs! Tomorrow I vill drill you until your feet bleed! Dismissed!"

Fritz fell out, smiling. For all his threats, their Sergeant had never released the men this early in the day. Like any good Drill Sergeant, he had to be threatening until the end. Slowly but surely, Wulfhart was beginning to respect them.

…

The Lord and Lady of Kurzheim ate in silence for yet another meal, both frustrated by their own prides. Lady Kurzheim while committed to the idea of conceiving a child, she was less thrilled by its… execution. She had expected Hans to bed her already and be done with it. It would be loveless, but it would get her pregnant. Instead, Hans hadn't as much as given her a kiss.

For his own part, Hans was stubborn. Despite his cold blooded nature, Hans was a little skittish at the idea of sealing his marriage vows. He was uneasy with the idea of making love to a woman who didn't love him. To be honest, he was a little nervous at the idea altogether. Hans was still a virgin, as he had figured he could worry about bedding a wife or mistress when he was King. As he had wooed Princess Anna, she had foolhardy love for him. She would forgive a poor performance on their wedding night. Lady Johanna would certainly mock and ridicule him.

And that was Hans' great weakness. He had to be respected. If he did poorly, it'd be shameful, and how could he be ashamed in front of his wife? He had to calculate everything, to plan everything. And one could not plan or prepare for his wedding night. And thus, it terrified him.

He cursed himself. He had to brag, he had to smugly reveal his whole damned plan to Anna. Now granted the frozen heart was a setback for his plan, but in hindsight he could have made it work. He could have admitted that he did not feel true love, but that he believed in time his "crush" would develop into true love. It might have worked. If not, he wouldn't be on this shit hole of an island. He could have started again, somewhere else.

That's all he could do during quiet moments, was think of how he could have done things different. Hell, his original plan of arranging an accident for Queen Elsa was unnecessary. Given her isolation, he would have likely have become Regent for an absent Queen. But of course his plan went to shit. And here he was. He thanked god above that his father gave him a Lordship, or a job of any kind for that matter. If he had been thrown in prison, with nothing to do but think, he would have gone mad.

They both dismissed themselves within moments of each other and went to their separate bedrooms.

…

Johanna closed the door to her bedroom, her room already prepared by her Lady in Waiting. She asked if she could be of any further use, before being dismissed. Johanna took off her dress, before getting in bed. She looked at the photograph of her dearly departed Franz. A young officer and her fiancé, he had been killed in the last war. Although a minor war, men still do die in such affairs, and her beloved Franz had been one of them. No marriage, no wedding night.

She had clutched the portrait, sobbing. She was willing to do what it took to get revenge. If she gave birth to a King and became Regent while he was young, she could go to war. Corona would pay for killing Franz. It didn't matter if they played all nice now, and they were on good terms. If that stupid bitch Rapunzel hadn't been found, the succession would have gone as planned. And the war of the Coronan succession would have never had happened. And Franz would be alive.

She would pay. Rapunzel would die, and Corona would burn. She would spread her legs to anyone to make that happen. She would bear a King.

She kissed the portrait. _I'll get her Franz. I'll make her pay for killing you._

…

**Bit of notes.**

**This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. For days, it languished at 1500 words or so, and felt unfinished. Bit of writers block, as the first two chapters practically wrote themselves. Then in one day I churned out the entire second half, sat on it overnight, and posted in the morning as I always do. Good news is like a third of Chapter 4 is already written, and as I have a good idea on what it's about, it shouldn't take too long. **

**Feeling pretty good on Lady Johanna's new motivations, should make things fun, as always. Felt that some proper motivation was needed. Between the two schemers, we should see plenty of Shadow Boxing in the future. Please Review and Keep reading.**

**As for the Prussian, it was not unusual for officers and NCOs of different countries to serve in foreign armies for the right price. As for Prussian discipline (i.e. blatantly beating men for minor infractions), this was common for the era. If anything, I toned it down.**


	4. Chapter 4- Laid Bare

Fritz slowly went through the steps of loading a rifle yet again, as his unit prepared to fire another volley at the simple earth berm. The point was less about accuracy, and more about being able to smoothly load and then discharge a rifle under the stress of combat. Today was the first day.

Even Sergeant Wulfhart had insisted that today be slow and steady, working on form and familiarization. Learn how to fire slow smoothly, then increase speed until one can fire 3 rounds a minute, the European standard.

_Tear Cartridge, Pour, ram, ball, ram, cock, cap, and fire!_

"Ready to discharge!"

A Corporal quickly walked up, doing a quick inspection to ensure the rifle had no major infractions. "What, no ramrod in the barrel? You're getting better. Discharge."

Fritz looked down in embarrassment. The first time he had loaded the rifle, he was so caught up in the motion that he had completely forgotten to remove the ramrod from the barrel. Had he fired, he would have sent the ramrod hundreds of feet down range, leaving him incapable of reloading.

He shook the embarrassing moment from his head, aiming the rifle and squeezing the trigger. The rifled musket discharged, sending the lead ball down range, impacting the berm. He smiled, as he had gotten considerably better since he had begun.

"Platoon, Attention!"

Now a disciplined man, Fritz snapped to the position of attention, in this case being order arms. The unit fell into the formation in mere seconds, before freezing solid. Their Company Commander, Captain Raeksen had arrived, inspecting the progress of his men.

Everyone had grown to hate the Captain. The Nephew of a General on the General staff, he owed his position only to money and nepotism. He loved to lord his superiority as an officer over the men, and was known to cane men who had as much as glanced at him, attention or not. Men like him were common on Kurzheim. Too stupid, cruel, or incompetent to be trusted to lead "real" formations, they had been dumped on Kurzheim to satisfy their egos, while not incurring the wrath of their benefactors.

Sergeant Wulfhart gave a swift salute, before resuming the position of attention, unmoving. The Captain gave a half-hearted salute in return. Not a major offense as all officers did this after their 1000th salute or so, but it was just another little thing that they hated about him.

"How goes the training, Sergeant?"

"Slow, but well sir."

"Slow?"

"Yes sir. Today is mostly learning the basics, and ensuring the men can load and fire a rifle safely."

"How is their speed?"

"Speed sir? Today is about form and safety sir. They-"

"WHAT IS THEIR RATE OF FIRE, _SERGEANT!?"_

"Most have trouble firing two rounds a minute, sir."

"Then you must be going too softly on them, Sergeant!"

He took a quick glance down the line, before settling on Fritz. "You there!"

"Yes Sir!"

"You are to fire 3 rounds in a minute. Fail, and you will have Guard duty every night for a week!"

Fritz's heart sank. There was no way he could do that! But he had to try. He was exhausted after only one night, let alone a whole week.

"Yes Sir!"

The Captain produced a stopwatch, flipping the switch so it opened. "Get ready!" Fritz stepped forward, mentally focusing on the task at hand. "Now!"

Fritz's hands trembled as he opened his cartridge box, withdrawing a single wax paper wrapped ball and powder, but causing another to tumble out. He shakily poured the gunpowder into the barrel, before stuffing the whole thing in, pulling out his ramrod and ramming it home, withdrawing the ramrod and placing in back beneath the barrel.

"20 Seconds"

Fritz panicked even more so, nearly spilling his percussion caps as he placed one in its proper place below the hammer, before aiming and firing.

"27 Seconds." By now, the Captains face was one of glee, as he loved to torment men under his command.

Fritz tried to race through the steps, taking shortcuts. He didn't wait till the powder fully emptied into the barrel before loading the cartridge and ball, and violently threw the ramrod into the barrel in a desperate attempt to save time.

"40 Seconds."

Fritz tore open his cap case, send a number of caps flying as he stuffed one into the hammer assembly and fired. The Rifle made and odd noise when he fired, causing Fritz to look in puzzlement at his Sergeant, who was shaking his head. He had messed up, _bad._

"You shot your ramrod downrange, _Dumkopf." _Wulfhart said in a tone or more disappointment, then anger. "Rifle over your head, now go retrieve it." Fritz turned red as a beet as he promptly did as he was told and began sprinting downrange.

"What was that?"

"The Private shot his ramrod down rage. I'm making him go get it while discouraging him to not do it again."

The officer sighed, shaking his head. "You see, Sergeant, that's why your men are not meeting standards, you are simply too lenient to them. The harder you are, the better they perform. They are not unlike horses. The harder you whip, the faster they run."

By this point, Fritz had returned, rifle and ramrod in hand, panting from running 100 yards. Wulfhart, annoyed that a spoiled brat was giving him, a 5 year veteran of the Prussian army, instruction on discipline intended to make the soldier hand him the ramrod before chucking it downrange again. This was his standard response to firing a ramrod, as it made a soldier useless in a line battle.

However, the Captain preempted him. Pulling out a simple notebook, he asked calmly. "Soldier, rank and name."

"Sir, Private Fritz Snavsfelt, Sir."

A quick scribble, and then the Captain gave out the verdict with the same emotion one would order an appetizer.

"Private Fritz Snavsfelt, by the authority granted to me as an officer in the Royal Army, you are hereby sentenced to 10 lashes, to be carried out tomorrow. Carry on." The Sergeant gave a bitter salute, as the officer gave a sloppy return salute before departing. Fritz could only stand there, mouth gaping in horror. He was to be whipped.

He turned in desperation to the man he had come to respect as much, if not more, than his father- Sergeant Wulfhart. "Sergeant?" It was plead of mercy to the grizzled man, as well as asking for reassurance, an explanation to make all right in the world. Privates will move mountains if a good Sergeant or Officers explains why.

But Wulfhart could give no reassurances, or explanations. This was not discipline. This was cruelty. You did not whip a man for a rookie mistake when he was only an hour into training. Not even back in Prussia. Criminals and Cowards were whipped, not mistake-prone privates. He turned to the terrified young man, mustering the most human expression he had ever given a recruit, a look of genuine sympathy for the man. With a simple hand on his soldier, he gave his response.

"Be strong, boy. You'll make it through. Face it with bravery."

And with that, he left the soldier, as Fritz began to weep.

…

The Next Day.

Fritz was led to the wagon wheel as the entire Battalion was formed up to watch the flogging. The entirety of the Battalion watching was supposed to bring shame on the man being flogged, as well and to discourage others from carrying out the crime in the future. However, as Fritz had done little wrong, and everyone knew it, it only meant the entire Battalion was with him in solidarity.

The two escorts removed his uniform jacket and undershirt, displaying his bare back, ready to be whipped. The two escorts had been relatively civil, only following their orders. As the two departed, Sergeant Wulfhart approached Captain Raeksen, saluting him properly, as a whip was tucked in his belt.

"Sergeant, carry out the punishment!"

"Jahowl, Herr Hauptman." Another salute, followed by an about face. Oddly, an orderly followed the Sergeant, which was strange as Wulfhart usually preferred to go without one. He quietly approached Fritz, leaning in. He produced a cowhide bridle, sticking it in Fritz's mouth.

"Bite down, _Kammerad. _It helps, _trust me." _He paused before whispering. "Be strong, _kinder. _Don't give that bastard satisfaction."

He walked past to the appropriate distance, turning to face Fritz's back. What he did next was against all regulations, but made him a hero. He wiped sweat from his brow, turning to his orderly.

"It is too hot to do this in uniform, Ja?" He then proceeded to take off his Prussian blue tunic, Cap and undershirt, leaving him bare chested. But it wasn't his chest that drew attention. As he drew the whip and did a few "stretches," his horribly scarred back was plain as day for every man in the battalion. Any man that knew Sergeant Wulfhart knew that the man was one to drill tirelessly in full kit on much hotter days. It was an excuse to make a statement. A statement of solidarity. He had clutched the wagon wheel, he had been flogged. And only flogged men should flog men.

"What is he doing!?" Captain Raeksen screamed. But before he could act, Oleg clutched his arm, stopping him.

"I don't know what you are talking about Captain. The Sergeant must be hot, that's all it is."

"You fool! He is clearly undermining discipline in the Battalion!"

"You would be wise to give me courtesy, _Captain. _It may be your flogging, but it's _my_ Battalion."

The officer commanding the actual flogging, a young Lieutenant spoke up, following his own orders. "Sergeant, 10 lashes."

"Yes sir." Wulfhart let the slack drop, before drawing the whip back. He sent it forward, with an audible _crack._

Fritz let off a muffled scream as the leather slashed his back open.

"One Sir!" He drew it back again, once again sending it forward. He hated it, but a flogging was a flogging. It'd be done right.

Another scream. Fritz eyes watered from the horrible stinging sensation of an open wound.

"Two Sir!" He drew back yet again, before lashing again mercilessly.

Fritz was sobbing now, as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Three Sir!"

…

"TEN AND _COMPLETE,_ SIR!" Wulfhart turned to the Lieutenant, standing at attention.

The Lieutenant, sickened by the display, was eager to be done with this affair. "Punishment carried out, Sergeant, carry on." Wulfhart saluted, before handing his orderly the bloody whip and retrieving his uniform, which he quickly donned.

He approached the gasping soldier, drawing a flask of liquor. He glanced at the patchwork of yet to be scars on the boy's back, as two of Fritz's comrades helped him off of the wheel.

"You did well _kammerad_, Here." Wulfhart unscrewed the flask. "In the Prussian army, he have a half and half method to help get over floggings. Half in the mouth…" He poured the drink down Fritz's mouth, several shots worth, enough that he would be intoxicated shortly. "… And half on the back." He poured the alcohol on the raw flesh of his back, nearly causing him to yelp in agony for half a second.

"Go to the infirmary. Get patched up. I don't expect to see you tomorrow. I'll try to get you a week. But no promises with that _Dumkopf _around, Ja?" He patted him on the shoulder, as his two comrades helped him walk to the infirmary.

…

"My Lord, we need to address the crisis in the garrison Battalion."

Hans sighed, as he stood up from his desk, where he was working on his economic plans. Economic reforms would have to wait.

"When I gave you command, I was under the impression that you dealt with thing like that, Oleg."

"I held back from major reforms to wait on your specific plans, My Lord. And even so, this requires your attention."

"Well?"

"The officers here are morons. They hand out floggings like greetings and wonder why the rank and file are near revolt." He paused, walking over to the chair, bracing on it. "Don't get me wrong- whipping is a great tool to combat cowardice and minor crimes like theft or insubordination. But these fools whip a man for a minor mistake on his first day of rifle training?" He shook his head.

"So fix it, Oleg!" Hans was a power hungry madman, but he knew the key to successful management was delegating tasks to subordinates. He was no great commander, but Oleg was.

The lower born man sighed. "That's the problem my lord. Captain Raeksen and his ilk have friends in high places. I need you to back me up when I kick their asses off the island."

"I see. Arrange a surprise inspection…" Hans opened his date book, checking for scheduling. "…the day after tomorrow. I'll find an excuse to dismiss them for. I also want replacements- _good replacements_ for their posts. Any other recommendations or plans of actions as well."

"Of course my Lord." Oleg had a number of ideas and plans in mind, he'd use the time to flesh them out and put them to paper. He was going fix the cluster fuck of a battalion, even if it killed him.

"Dismissed, Colonel."

Hans watch the man click his heels together, before turning and depart. He sighed, returning to his work. Budget figures weren't going to calculate themselves…

…

"Fall in, FALL IN!"

Fritz dropped his wood axe and sprinted towards his company's drill area, grabbing his white tunic and Kepi as dozens of men on other tasks did likewise. The NCOs and Officers screamed at them to hurry up, as arms where unstacked and clueless Privates were tossed and thrown as NCOs moved men into their proper positions in Company Formation. Whatever it was, it was unplanned.

Sergeant Wulfhart put Fritz in formation, passing him a Rucksack and his rifle from stacked arms. As he buttoned his tunic and threw on the black Leather Ruck, causing him to Grimace. As foretold, yesterday Captain Raeksen had ordered Fritz back onto duty, to the protest of the Doctor and Sergeant Wulfhart.

Even putting on the Wool tunic in the morning hurt, let alone a heavy rucksack. But unbeknown to Fritz, Captain Raeksen had little to do with this. Three minutes prior at 2:50 a messenger arrived with orders for the Company to prepare for and to receive Lord Hans and Lieutenant Colonel Schwarzkopf as they conducted an inspection. They berated the messenger who as ordered informed that there was a mix-up and orders meant for the morning had been delayed.

Which was bullshit. The order was written and sent less than an hour ago. As the clock hit 3, the young Lord and the Colonel approached on horseback, accompanied by a small escort party of horsemen, impeccably on time. Any experienced soldier would have known something was up, as Officers where _never _on time with their own formations.

The Captain saluted and greeted the official party, and the two went straight to work. Generally these things consist of a quick walkthrough, before the Lord gets bored and ends the whole thing. But Hans and Oleg were not here as some courtesy. They were here to destroy Captain Raeksen. The meticulously looked for a solid excuse, and it didn't take long.

Oleg had remembered Fritz's face.

"You! Come here, on the double!"

"MOVING SIR!" Fritz fell out properly, before running to the proper distance from the Light Colonel. Snapping to attention, he presented himself, scared that they would find a flaw with his kit.

"Are you Private Fritz Snavsfelt?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Remove your pack, Tunic, and undershirt if you are wearing one Private."

"Yes Sir!"

Still not understanding the game played high above his level, Fritz did what he was told. Within a minute, he stood, bare chested. He hoped the officer would not remember the flogging. Officer's were always harder on flogged men.

"Turn about."

"Yes Sir!"

The young soldier turned his back on the Colonel and Lord with a proper about face. Still Bandaged from daily bandage changes, a few of the cuts had reopened, causing the white dressing to turn red again. Turning slightly to Hans, he gestured with his baton, explaining the situation.

"My Lord, that man was flogged two days ago for a very minor offense. According to regulations, a flogged man is put on bed rest for 3-7 days. It's been two."

Hans smiled. This was perfect. "Captain, _why _is that man not on quarters?"

The Captain couldn't think of a proper response.

"Are you a sadist? Do you _enjoy _damaging army property? The Southern Isles needs soldiers, and if fools like you continue, we'll have none left!"

Raeksen tried to deflect blame. "I had nothing to do with it! He's Sergeant Wulfhart's man! _He's _responsible for him!"

"YOU LIE!" The Battalion Medical officer was visiting to treat various light injuries, and had come out to see the commotion. He could not have been in a better place.

"Private Snavsfelt was ordered to return to FULL duty, DESPITE my, and more importantly at the moment, Sergeant Wulfhart's protest. I even have a written complaint for the two of us."

Oleg had had enough. He dismounted his horse, approaching the Captain, striking him with his Baton.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU _DARE_ LIE TO A SUPERIOR OFFICER, AS WELL AS YOUR LORD?!" Another strike.

"Men, arrest Captain Raeksen on charges of conspiracy, lying to an officer, lying to a noble, and abuse of power. Lieutenant!"

Lieutenant Schmidt stepped out, saluting. "SIR?"

"Until further notice, you are in command of 1st Company. Carry on."

"SIR!"

As the watched Captain Raeksen be put in chains weeping, and carried off, they all felt a large degree of satisfaction. Fritz was not the first soldier Raeksen abused. Afterwards they fell out, and Fritz once again felt fear as Lt. Schmidt approached him. He had no issues with him before, but the young officer had presided over the flogging.

"Private Snavsfelt!"  
"SIR?"

"You are to be on quarters for the next week. I better not catch you doing anything but rest and eat. Am I clear?"

"YES SIR!"

"Sergeant Wulfhart, square this soldier away."

As the Prussian led him back to the infirmary, Fritz couldn't help but smile. Born on remote Kurzheim and barely literate, Fritz could not read the newspapers even if they did arrive here. He had never heard of Arendelle, or of Queen Elsa or Princess Anna. What he _did _know was that young Lord Hans had arrested a bastard of an officer because a Private was being abused. If that didn't make him a good Lord, he didn't know what would. Some rumors had come down about how he was disgraced and such, but Fritz didn't care.

_There's a Lord I'd follow to hell and back!_

…

Hans stood in the room, surrounded by a number of officers. All uneasy, they quietly awaited Hans to speak, lest they be targeted. Hans' surprise inspection targeted every company in the battalion, with 5 officers arrested on various charges, and two Company Commanders relieved.

While all were scared, they had mixed feelings as a group. Kurzheim was where undesirables were sent. For some, undesirable qualities meant abusive tendencies, laziness, incompetence or corruption. For others, Kurzheim was their punishment for poor heritage, religious differences, or weakness of character. Some struggled with the drink or the women of the night.

Some wanted things to stay the same, a paradise for bad officers. Others, desperate to escape so they may be of use, welcomed any change. Hans was about to make one group very happy. Facing his office window, he stared out onto the bleak landscape or barren Kurzheim.

"I had been told of how rotten Kurzheim was, but I never expected this. So rotten, so hollow, that a surprise inspection cracks and shatters the whole establishment. If there were newspapers here, there'd be a scandal."

Silence. Hans turned, his hands behind his back, coldly staring the men in the room down. He didn't realize it, but he was channeling his father very much now.

"It ends gentlemen, if I can even call you men that title. You have a simple choice. Leave or stay. I will facilitate your transfers or resignations, there will be no repercussions. I'll even pay for the boat ticket, because I don't want you. You sicken and corrupt the very formations you lead. Officers are _examples _for the men."

He paused, swallowing.

"Some of you may wish to go back to being officers and gentlemen, if you ever where. If you are sincere, you are welcome. It will be hard, but rewarding. If you stay, but wish to fight me, to keep things the way they are, I WILL destroy you. Think you have friends in high places? My father is the King."

An officer scoffed. "We know what happened, Lord Hans. You no longer have your father's favor." A couple of smirks and chuckles.

"Maybe so, but my Father sent me here to _fix _this shithole. He won't look kindly on… obstructions. Test me. You _know _how ruthless I can be."

Hence one of Hans' strengths. He once was referred to by an observer as a "Mirror." To blend in, to get allies, to threaten enemies, he adapted the qualities of his conversational opposite. He was in a room of corrupt, brutal officers who only understood brutality. So he became them.

Hans laughed, shaking his head. "You think you are crueler than me? You think you can outsmart and backstab me? You think you are all such ruthless men." He changed to a darker, more serious tone.

"I planned for years, a ruthless and terrible coup. I attempted to murder my fiancé in cold blood, just so I'd officially be King, rather than be regent. I broke a woman's heart just so I could kill her. And I didn't even dislike them, they just stood in my way. What do you think I'll do to some that I hate?"

They were once again cowed. They shuffled their feet and eyed the ground. Most decided then and there to leave Kurzheim. It wasn't a fight worth fighting. There were other 2nd rate units, other posts that could hide bad officers. And Hans didn't offer a gentle farewell.

Slamming his hands onto the desk, he adopted their utmost cruelty, staring into their very souls. With a voice nearly a growl, he commanded their withdrawal.

"Now get out of my sight!"

They mostly stumbled over themselves as they clicked their heels and turned to leave, with most filing out as quickly as possible. But not all did so. A few maintained a firm glare back at their Lord, calmly and stoically dismissing themselves, leaving the room last. As they left, Hans did his best to remember their faces.

_Those men are either going to be my best officers, or my worst enemies. Either way, I'd do well to remember them._

He relaxed, slumping back into his chair. It had been an eventful and good day. The worse Officers were gone, the men's morale has stabilized, and steps had been taken. A slight pay raise. A new training regimen. Better food. And most of all, Oleg had recommended a Prussian NCO for the post of Sergeant Major, which Hans approved. His military was stable, so he could finally return to economic matters, which started tomorrow.

_Now the real battle starts._

Bit of Notes-

If you must know, this chapter was inspired when I watched Starship Troopers. A movie I have come to reappraise after watching it again. But you're not here for that. This chapter was half written after the flogging scene, where it stagnated due to work and Faith and Duty. Next chapter has us go back to Hans scheming and making shit work on Kurzheim, with a _fun _arc coming up. Let's just say I have a fun shout out to past Disney works coming. Even if this now means I have to re-watch said works for "research" so it may take a while.

Luckily though, Hans' Fate is now getting my full attention Fanfiction wise for the next month, with the exception to a short one-shot coming. Hopefully it won't take 3 weeks this time. (You see, coming up with plot instead of piggybacking on Frozen's is _hard.__) _Crossing my fingers.

As for the Mirror bit, I got that from the Frozen/Disney wiki on Hans, which I thought was another clever, if subtle shout out to the fairy tale. If you watch the Movie, you'll notice that Hans basically mirrors whoever he is talking to. Clumsy and Nice for Anna, Harsh and Threatening to the Duke of Weselton, and Regretful and Helpless to help Elsa in Jail. Kinda impressive, ain't it?


	5. Chapter 5- Dirt Poor

Kurzheim, August 1840

Hans strolled through the courtyard, as he watched the last shipment of Capital roll into the newly constructed vault. Unimpressed with the previous treasury, he had promptly ordered his Groundskeeper, Rolf to construct an annex from the old one. Now finished, Rolf had begun improving the Keep's outer wall. The already small courtyard was littered with piles and piles of bricks.

This was of course bothering Lady Johanna, who enjoyed gardening. As it was August, she was putting the last work on the summer garden before preparing to move things to her small greenhouse. All the bricks piled everywhere wasn't not making her happy. Hans allowed himself to be petty, laughing when she vented throughout the day.

As he sat on a bench doing more paperwork and figures, he also handled two appointments for the day. The first was with Wagner, who Hans had not seen much of. Wagner was on a general assignment of intelligence gathering. Wagner was effectively assessing the shadow world of Kurzheim. Not only the underworld, but the unofficial world. For example, a Village might have a Lord-assigned Mayor, but usually, every village had a guy. The guy people turned to when they had issues. Wagner was finding those guys.

Today, though, he was dealing with a simpler task.

"Wagner, Soon I'll need a personal Guard. As of now, I got units rotating through. I don't like that. Find me 3 dozen good, hard, _loyal_ men. They don't need to be soldiers, just men. Men that I don't need to keep an eye on."

"Of course, sir."

"Good, get it done."

With the shadow business taken care of, Hans put his mind into an economic stand point. The next appointment was a small team of surveyors, economists, and other experts. Paid via a small down payment plus a bonus for every item of interest, they had every incentive to find things of value. The team leader, did not look encouraging.

Hans sprung to his feet, waiting for the report for ages. "Well?"

The older man shook his head. "My Lord, while Kurzheim has a decent farming and fishing economy, neither could be developed into a booming industry. There's no Iron, Coal, Silver or gold here. The timber is substandard, and we're poorly placed for trading. In other words, Kurzheim is of little value."

Hans fumed. If these men couldn't find _anything, _there was little hope. Angry at the shitty nature of the Island, Hans screamed, grabbing and flinging a brick as hard as he could at the wall. Lady Johanna laughed as she weeded, glad to see she wasn't the only one having a bad day.

Hans paced angrily, cursing before a stray thought had entered his head. One of a childhood memory.

…

Kesselburg, Summer 1826.

"HANS, GET DOWN HERE, NOW!"

10 year old Hans pouted as he started climbing down for the brick building in the castle. Part way down, his feet knocked out an older brick, as Hans watched as the brick fell the 10 or so feet shattering on the cobblestone. He made the rest of the way down, where a furious Queen grabbed her youngest son, shaking him. Her long black hair running down her back, and her blue eyes of the sea staring intently at him.

"You could have gotten hurt! You're confined to your room until further notice! And I assure you, your father will hear about this!"

Young Hans, terrified to face his father, began sobbing as he shuffled to his room. The Queen stood, defiant in the face of a troublesome little boy. It wasn't until her boy was out of sight, that she softened her posture. She hated being harsh, but it was the only way boys learned. She had played this game 12 times before, and she always won.

…

Present Day, Kurzheim.

He walked up to the brick he threw at the wall. He picked it up, remembering how hard he chucked it. Remarkably, it was still intact. Most masonry bricks were not that strong, yet this brick didn't have as much as a crack in it. An attentive fellow, Rolf approached, inquiring.

"How may I help you, My Lord?"

"Rolf, _where _do they make these bricks?"

…

Hans stepped out of his carriage, taking in the sight and smells of the poorest town of Kurzheim, Kanton. Kanton was the village that provided most of the coastal settlements with their raw materials. Wood, clay and bricks all came from Kanton. Life was hard, dirty and crappy here.

The Brick makers turned out to be no different than others Hans had encountered. Shaping the raw materials by hand before firing it, there was little special about their technique. Eager to please their new Lord, they did inform Hans that the clay was what made the bricks so strong.

So he visited the Clay Pit. Little more than a hole dug into the ground, with standing grey water. A Dozen or so men dug and shoveled clay into bins, as a large bald man directed them, unafraid to get dirty with his men. Upon spotting the former-Prince, he immediately made his way up the ladder. Reaching the top, he removed his mud spotted cap, bowing his head in reverence.

"My Lord, it is an honor." The man spoke with a slight Slavic accent, hinting of an origin in the Baltics.

"Relax, I'm just curious about your… facilities."

"Ah! We make the best mud in the world here, sire!" The foreman picked up a brick, slamming it into a hardwood support beam. "5 times stronger than steel, but half the weight!"

Hans seriously doubted the truth of the statement, but he knew he had found the source of the bricks. As the Foreman continued to rattle on about his "pit," He turned to Kurt, one of the experts, a man who understood everything there was to be known about soil and dirt. Though his expertise was farming soil, he did understand what mud made good bricks or not.

"Kurt, what do you think of all this?"

"Well, I don't know, my Lord."

"What do you mean? We could make the best bricks in the world!"

"Yes, but shipping costs would make them far too expensive to be viable. However, I can do tests for Kaolin."

"Kaolin?"

"It's a vital ingredient for Porcelain. If the test comes back good, it means we could make fine china here."

Hans thought about the implications. The Southern Isles never had a local Porcelain manufacturer, they had always to buy from Denmark or Norway. Even Arendelle had a small factory. They just never had an island with the raw materials to make it. Until now.

"Do what's needed. We finally may have what we need to make money."

"As you wish, my Lord." He bowed and departed for his tools. As the scientist departed, the Foreman focused his attention on the Lord. "My Lord, do you want to take a tour of the storage facility?"

Well, he had nothing better to do until the afternoon. Extending a hand, he gestured "Carry on."

"Good choice, My Lord!" The Foreman slapped Hans' back, with his thick muddy gloves with a thick, hearty laugh, leaving a muddy print on his white uniform. Hans didn't notice. He was too busy thinking and planning.

_It's going to be messy, and hard. But I will beat the Royal Copenhagen plant out of the Southern Isles!_

…

Hans watched the Signal Engineers closed their kits, finished with their tasks. It had been a long month, but they had completed their task- Installing a Telegraph wire. Hans had commissioned them the day he was informed he was to be exiled here. While the basic technology had gone back a century, practical widespread use had just come into use. Only major cities had spent the money on the technology, with the military already buying as much of the stuff as they could.

Hans had put down a considerable amount buying the miles of telegraph wire, linking himself to the nation's system. Running to the Telegraph Office in Nordsiden, the Duchy's capital, Hans' could now be fully up to date with news and business through the major centers of the Southern Isles.

One of the engineers sat down at the station, placing a headset on his head, and conducted a test message to Nordsiden. Hans understood that he was using something called Morse code, a system in which every character was represent by a series of "dots" or "dashes." To Hans though, it was a series of unintelligible Hammering on the device. The message was sent out in short order, followed by a brief pause. Hans, the operator, and the other Engineers waited without a sound.

After about a minute, the device emitted a series of beeps, in which the Operator began to translate and copy onto a piece of scratch paper. Once the message concluded, the man handed the paper to Hans, before signaling once more. Hans read the message.

_Kurzheim, this is Nordsiden,_

_We read you loud and clear. Welcome to the Network, Boys!_

Hans had already began work on his intentions for the device. The Engineers would now spend the next few weeks training hand-picked Soldiers for Signal duty, where they would learn Morse code and everything they would need to repair the system if it went down. Then the Engineers would depart.

At this point, the men would be manning the station day and night, as they would receive and transmit vital information. Hans wanted daily reports from both Nordsiden and Kesselburg, where men of his would send messages to be transmitted, so Hans would be fully aware of the Happenings of the outside world, instead of relying on ship travel or messenger pigeons to deliver the news.

And it would just be the beginning. In time he would install such an office in every major settlement on Kurzheim, as well as the Army Camp. And it would all come back to here, the hub of the nervous system. He could put the Garrison on Alert in a moment's notice, or schedule a shipment of goods without sending a man to oversee it. It would be wonderful.

As he left the room, he met the 15 Men handpicked for signal training. Literate, good reflexes, loyal, and good hearing were what brought these men here. In addition to that, these men would supplement the Keep's Guard. It was time to inform these still unaware men their new purpose.

"Gentlemen, as you know, you've been selected for a special assignment. However, you don't know what your assignment was when you were selected."

Gesturing through the open door, Hans displayed his new toy. "You are to become the start of Kurzheim's Signal Corps."

Some sighed in relief, others shook their heads in frustration. Hans had an inkling why.

"You all came from an Infantry Battalion. Some of you wanted to fight, some of you didn't. That doesn't matter now. Each one of you will be more valuable than an entire Company in regards of the defense of this Island, and our Country as a whole."

Hans had dealt with the young bucks before. He had spent a short term as an Officer in the Royal Marines. There was always untested boys who wanted to go to battle. No matter how horrible the older men describe the affair, no matter how many books come out describing the futility and horror of war, it doesn't matter. Young men are always drawn to battle.

Hans would have Oleg review the short list again, see if he could get the eager boys out of the outfit. There is no more undisciplined man than a young buck who is stuck in a non-combat outfit.

…

Hans and Johanna ate dinner silently, as they had for the past month. Neither had spoken to each other beyond table mannerisms and asking to pass food. They had brief discussions outside of their evening meal, when it was easy to pretend they were not husband and wife. Here, it was harder to obscure that "relationship."

Both had been just too damn proud to play nice to smooth the feathers, and become anything more than bitter roommates. Once again Hans cursed himself at failing in Arendelle, though it was a different reason why. This time, it was because he had tasted love, at least the love of someone else. How to Princess Anna, he was everything she wanted and needed. Had it been anyone else but her sister that ran, she would have never left Hans.

It was a false relationship, built on lies, greed and deceit, but he had that taste in his mouth. The cold blooded murderer was still exactly that, except now he had felt love, and now _wanted _it. So he was desperate to find a way to begin a true relationship with Lady Johanna.

But if there was a total opposite of Anna out there, it was her. Johanna was quiet, very graceful, had no adventurous spirit, and while not a pessimist, had a very realistic outlook on life. For a month Hans had probed, trying to find a weakness, an entry way, but he could not find one. It didn't help he had little courting experience.

Hans had never seriously courted for a suitor during his teen years. He wasn't in demand, and he was too focused on making himself "better" than his older brothers. All day he studied and trained. Suddenly Hans was 16 years old, and had had yet to even dance with a girl at a ball. King Friedrich had decided to intervene. Hans still remembered that talk.

…

Kesselburg, winter 1832

Hans sat in his room reviewing the newspaper for stock prices. He had recently discover investing, and was hooked on turning his princely allowance into even more money. A distinct knock of wood on wood interrupted him. His father had come to talk.

"Come in, Father."

His father came in, a little nervous himself. He had already given "The Talk" to Hans, which was easy considering he had done it 12 times before. This was a little more awkward. He had notice his son's total lack of interest in women at the various balls, which made Frederick worry that his youngest boy was more… _interested_ in other men. He felt it was time to deal with it.

Pulling up a chair, the older man gathered his thoughts. Hans, a little worried started first.

"Father, what's wrong?"

"Son, I've noticed you don't like dancing, talking or looking at girls at the ball."

Hans was a little confused. "And?"

"Well, I gave you the talk a few years ago, because that's when boys start getting urges. When you hadn't, I thought maybe you were a late bloomer. But you're 16 now. Hell, when Alexander was 16, he was sleeping with maids, for god's sake!"

"I don't understand what this is about."

"Son, do you feel the way I described men feel about women, about other men?"

Hans face twisted to one of surprise and horror. His father thought he was Queer.

"No, God no!"

"Then what's your issue, boy?! I moved heaven and earth to stop your older brothers from fucking the staff and other ladies, and yet you don't even give them a second glance!"

"I don't know! It just seems a waste of time, no one wants to marry the 13th in line anyways…"

"Is that what this is about?" The King laughed, slapping his leg in a fit. "Hans, I was the son of a Knight, and yet I married the Princess! If anything, you have it better than your older brothers!"

"How so?"

"Hans, your oldest brothers are doomed to political marriages, with little to no love in them. You, you get to _choose."_

"Even then, I have no idea what to do. What if I make a fool of myself?"

"Son, did I ever tell you how I met your mother?"

"No." Hans had attempted to say it in a way that had no curiosity in it, as he really did not want to hear his father's story. It was to no avail.

"We were both 12 years old. It was her Birthday, and her parents and the entirety of the young nobility was there. You mother was… eccentric as a young girl. Most of the others didn't really interact with her that much. So I decided to be brave, and offer her a dance. And it went perfectly at first."

Hans struggled to imagine his father as a 12 year, as Frederick slightly blushed, remembering the embarrassment of that day.

"Then there was a… accident, and I was sent over a table, into a bowl of punch, ruining my cadet uniform."

Hans began to laugh, causing the older man to shoot his son a look. Hans quickly stifled his laughter, knowing that this was a thought to laugh at later rather than annoy his father.

"She then did something very odd, and me being a stupid boy, nearly undid any connection we gained from that dance. In anger, I mocked her unusual traits. And it nearly cost me everything I value in this world. She would not talk to me for years. For 15 seconds of stupidity. I had to prove myself a man before I could win her back, show that the stupid, vain boy was gone."

He sighed, feeling such shame that he had nearly not had the life he cherished, and the family he loved.

"In closing, be brave and jump in. Love isn't a problem that's defeated with strategy, it's a leap of faith. Sometimes you get hurt, son. But sometimes, it's the greatest thing that will ever happen. Be yourself, and don't hide who you are. Don't be quick to judge or mock her faults, sometimes, it's the best things about her. Embrace them."  
He patted his son on the shoulder, confident he had set his son up for success in the game of love. He had no idea what damage his lesson would inflict. Not even Hans knew yet. Hans would one day "embrace" the odder qualities of a Princess Anna, to disastrous effect. But that lesson would one day be used for a less diabolical purpose.

…

Kurzheim, August 1840

Hans was done with it. Time for a leap of faith.

"So how was your day?"

Johanna lifted her head in puzzlement, surprised by the sudden inquiry. "Excuse Me?"

"How was your day?"

So shocked by the question, she initially went with it. "Tolerable, I guess. Finished my gardening preparations for winter."

"That's… interesting I guess."

"Well, asshole, what did _you_ do?"

Despite trying to avoid being as self-important as always, Hans couldn't help but take up the opportunity to boast about his minor and not-so-minor accomplishments.

"Installed a Telegraph office, reshaped our mud farming industry."

Despite growing up on Kurzheim, even Johanna was thrown off by the concept of a region being so poor, as to farm mud.

"Mud farming?"

"Well, technically Clay mining. But on the subject, perhaps we could start exporting compost-"

Johanna's sense of vertigo had passed. Her mind realized who she was talking to, and panicked. As far as she was concerned, one would be better off having a conversation with the serpent of Eden.

"Stop. I know what you are doing, you're trying to charm me, like you did with Anna."

Hans shook his head, tired of the doors being slammed in his face. "And to what end?"

"You're trying to make me love you, and I'm not having it!"

Han's charming mood vanished, as his true feelings revealed themselves. His face twisted into an angry snarl, as he bolted up, throwing a glass at the wall. He was angry at being stuck on Kurzheim, at being hated by anyone who was literate, and at having a wife who was hostile to the concept of loving him. He was angry at himself and the world. Finally, true words came out.

"AND WOULD THAT BE SO DAMNED BAD!?"

Before Johanna could respond Hans launched into a tirade. His face turned red, and hammered out words so fast he scarcely had time to breathe.

"For god's sake, we are married! Even political marriages they _try _to love each other! We are a month into our marriage and we don't speak, we sleep in different beds, and we can't be in the same room for more than 5 minutes!"

Hans calmed down, with less shouting, but still firmly convicted and truthful.

"Yes, I lied and manipulate Anna to get her to marry me. I did so to steal her kingdom. What the fuck am I going to steal from you? We are already married!"

Johanna finally found a chance to interject. "Then why, why charm? Why try to court me instead of just using me to sire children?"

Hans was sickened by that very thought. That is one morality lesson his father imparted that stuck. "I am _many things, _but I am NOT a rapist!"

"It's not rape, I knew what our union meant. I signed up to be nothing more than a baby factory in your eyes! _Why _are you, he who does nothing but advance his own standing, care so damned much if I like you or not."

Seeing no choice, Hans slumped into his chair, admitting one of his revelations from his time in Arendelle. He had embraced his identity as a monster with a frozen heart, so he hated revealing anything that betrayed that. But, his father was right. He had to be himself with his wife.

"Because of Anna."

"Anna?"

"Our courtship was built on lies, spying, and schemes, but not for her. She honestly thought she loved me. Everything I did, said, or was, was the world to her. A good girl with a big heart, who was determined to give it all to me. I still did what I did, but I had a taste of that love. And while I still have my plans, my schemes, and my goals, I want that _feeling_ again."

Johanna shook her head with a mix of pity and disgust. "Anna was a stupid girl who was desperate for love. I will never give you what she did- total, blind, and stupid love." She sipped her wine, feeling that perhaps it was fair to elaborate and be truthful herself.

"When I was 18, I was set to be married to a young Officer named Franz. I truly loved him and he loved me. Then three years ago, he was killed in the war. I can never love anyone like I did Franz."

"Have you tried?"

"No I-"

"What's the harm of trying? We are stuck together until one of us dies, and I can assure you, if you die in a way that's anyway suspicious, I'd be joining you quickly. So now I have to keep you safe to keep me safe. Since we are stuck together, can't we just _try _to love each other?"

Johanna was torn. She was so lonely since her Mother and Franz died, and did wish for family again. But she was truly loyal to Franz, even past the grave. Even with faced with consummation of her and Hans' wedding night, which _still_ had not happened, her plan was one of a raped woman- Lie back and think of Franz. But Hans was right. And as great as he was, Franz was dead. She wasn't ready to move on, but she was ready to finally try to.

"I guess… we can try."

…

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.

King Frederick was overlooking a report from his Royal Quartermaster when the knock came. While the assessment that Breechloaders were not feasible for mass issue was troubling, he never was one to leave company waiting.

"Come in."

It was one of his Stewart's underlings, sent to deliver a message or report. Fairly new, he was a little nervous to talk to or address the king.

"Yes?"

"Your majesty, Master Wolfgang wishes to inform you that the Queen Dowager has planned a spontaneous trip."

Hardly news. His wife's mother, she was a free spirit and was prone to go one trips with minimal planning or forethought. However, she was smart, tough and adventurous, so she always made it work. Frederick never saw an issue with it. She was loved throughout the land, and even his critics loved the old, former Queen as she was a kind, loving soul. Even if he felt that she wasn't to kind towards him and his boys…

It was surprising as the Queen Dowager adored her daughter, and she was sick. Very sick. He didn't think it like her to leave now of all times. As such, Frederick wanted to know what was so damned important to visit now.

"Did the Queen Dowager inform Master Wolfgang where she was headed?"

"Indeed she did, Your Highness. She's travelling to Kurzheim."

Frederick stood up, feeling dread. Hans was in trouble now.

…

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

It had been a good day so far for Hans. Kurt had come back with very positive results for Kaolin. There was loads of the materials needed to begin porcelain production. He had already sent out feelers to investors and his business contacts, as to start on his plan immediately. As such he was anxious for any news about that.

He was walking through the hallway of Manor Kurzheim, heading towards the office when a signal cadet ran up to him, saluting, before handing his a piece of paper. While they still trained on the systems, the Engineers had a funny way of making the recruits do all the heavy lifting.

"Message for you, Sire. Came in this morning."

"Thank you, soldier."

Hans read the report, one of several due that day. It was mostly political and courtly news, minor pieces of information and gossip that Hans read to try to get a big picture. Nothing on investors or business partners. Attached, was a significant piece of information, however.

_Queen Dowager to visit Kurzheim, to congratulate Lord Hans and Lady Johanna on their marriage. _

Hans hand shook with terror as he read that message. More than their father, Hans and his brothers grew up in absolute fear of their grandmother, also known by them as "The Red Terror". She made a habit of scolding and punishing the hell out of them, to avoid them growing up "like their father." She was always one to stress respect for women, honor, and being a good decent person in them. And Hans had strayed very far from that.

He was quite scared, as he should be. The Red Terror was coming, and she was coming for blood.

Bit of News-

Another chapter finished, as life goes on in Kurzheim. This chapter crashed and halted when I introduced the Clay, as I had to go online and look up Brick making, Clay mining and Porcelain. I was going to go with Bricks, but the first automated Brick mass production is almost two decades away, and the cost of shipping bricks is not really feasible. Since we were on mud and ceramics, I decided a Firefly reference was not only cool but necessary.

And yes. I do intend to include a number of more cameos for Firefly. Hero of K(C)anton, anyone?

Building up for a big reveal next chapter, which I intend to churn out as fast as possible, so I can finally tell my brother what it is. (Never been good at keeping secrets.) All I can say is that the material being incorporated _has _been hinted at, and diehard fanatics will most likely already know what I am going to do. If you want to guess, send me a PM. Reviews might spoil it for others. (Though as always, reviews are more than welcome.)

Most of you are probably not happy with some turn of events. I know many of you tuned in to see a perpetual motion machine of Hans' torture, the equivalent of seeing Hans fall down an "Up" escalator. So the idea of possible romance with Johanna might not be appreciated. I still don't know how this ends, but I do know that Hans must build himself up before he's any threat to Arendelle. And Johanna is hardly a victim of Hans. Don't think Beauty and the Beast- think Bonnie and Clyde.

Evil Love anyone?

I also know that at first glance Johanna may sound like an Elsa proxy, which might piss of "Helsa" haters (btw, I hate Helsa too). But she's not. Elsa was prim, perfect, quiet, and neat because she self-tortured herself to be that way. While years of acting like that has resulted in Elsa being the "refined" sister, she has shown traits that counter that.

Johanna is not like that. Johanna is far more cold-blooded than Queen Elsa, and has OCD issues. While not afraid of dirt and grime, she cannot stand an imperfect garden or dirty Manor. Not because she's desperate to maintain an illusion of perfection (that perfect girl is gone…) or impress people, but because doing otherwise would drive HER insane. And while Elsa is intelligent and is capable of tough decisions, Johanna is as willing to do very ugly things in pursuit of her goals. If Johanna is anyone, she's a female Hans.


	6. Chapter 6- Family and Buisness

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

August 29th, 1840

2 days until the Queen Dowager's visit

Fritz fell into formation with his new Company, having finished recruit training a few days ago. While training continued as always, he had been given much more liberty. Things didn't change too much, as there was a considerable upheaval and reorganizing in the ranks. Over half the officer corps was dismissed or resigned, meaning officers suddenly found themselves in much higher positions.

Fritz had been sent to Company A from the training company, but it wasn't long before the now-Captain Schmidt was assigned as their Company Commander. Fritz was still trying to get a read on what kind of officer Schmidt was. The fact he was still here was a good sign, of course. The only serious change was the inclusion of Lieutenants to lead the Platoons, and the First Sergeant. The First Sergeant was the senior NCO in the Company, and was the CO's right hand man in regards to discipline and training. Theirs was Oversergent Olsen. The 39 year old NCO was below average height, with grey hair and moustache. With a face scared by pox, wind and blades, he was a grizzled looking man.

Olsen had spent his entire life in the army, to the point that he was a drummer boy in Napoleon's Grande Armée. Rumor had it he survived the Russian Campaign of 1812. If that was true, he was one tough son of a bitch. While not a drill master on the level of Wulfhart, Olsen appeared to be better at demonstrating practical combat drills.

It was time for Weekly duty assignment, and everyone was crossing their fingers. One Platoon, out of the 9 in the Battalion was going to get the short straw- Manor Guard duty. The duty was bad enough as is, with NCOs and officers going off the handle for minor flaws with Kit and constant drill practice. Plus, some VIP was coming to Kurzheim so they would be under a microscope the whole time.

The Company formed, Olsen performed an about face, saluting Schmidt, quietly addressing the younger man, before Schmidt saluted in return. Olsen then stepped to the side as Schmidt stepped forward to address the men.

"Good Morning, Gentlemen." As trained, the men responded with a similar greeting. "As you know, it's time for weekly duties assignment. As it stands, 1st Platoon will perform Camp details, 2nd Platoon is to conduct training, and 3rd Platoon has been selected for Manor Guard duty."

Fritz muttered a curse. He was assigned to 3rd Platoon.

"As the Platoon handling Manor Guard, 3rd Platoon will also be the first to receive a replacement officer. Lieutenant Bondsen is to meet you at the manor for further briefing. Stay sharp, and do as you're told. Make the Company proud. Dismissed."

Fritz fell out and made his way over to begin collecting his kit for the march to the Manor. It was going to be a long week.

…

August 30th 1840,

The day before

"Still no news, my lord."

Hans groaned. While certainly worried about his Grandmother's visit, that didn't mean his plans would stop. Hans believed in the "First Hundred Days." That the first 100 days of rule where crucial in setting the tempo for the rest of his reign. To lose steam or initiative during this period would relegate his rule to mediocrity. As such, he had been working non-stop during this period.

And yet there was only so much he could do. No one was interested in seriously investing in Kurzheim possible Porcelain industry. A few had meekly contributed funds and support, but no-one really wanted to go toe-to-toe against Royal Copenhagen. No one except a man named Gregers Sendsen.

When Hans purged the Officer Corps, a number of civilian officials had gotten the message: times were changing. As such, one such official was the Magistrate for Kanton. Hans had chosen a Gregers Sendsen as a replacement, due to his background in managing mines. Shortly after arriving, Sendsen had discovered Hans' inquiries for investment, and Sendsen had offered to foot most of the bill.

Hans sighed and entered the meeting hall. Waiting for him was Sandsen, rising to greet his new Lord.

"Ah, My Lord! Pleasure to meet you!"

"Likewise, Mr. Sandsen. I hope your voyage wasn't too unpleasant?"

"It was a good as what can be expected, my Lord. Now, I hear you have a proposition for me?"

"Yes. I have recently discovered Kaolin in the clay surrounding Kanton, making the material excellent for Porcelain production. If we had a good facility set up, we could begin making Porcelain. _Good _Porcelain."

"And you only need a Partner? My Lord I would be more than pleased to be that man for you. I assume the factory would be located in Kanton?"

Hans was both ecstatic and suspicious. As Magistrate, Sandsen would be highly susceptible to corruption as both the employer and administrator of the town. Not to mention a sizeable concentration of power on Kurzheim- easily abused power. However, He wasn't dealing with a list of candidates, or even a short list. It was this shady man, or nothing. As much as Hans smelled a trap, Hans had no choice. He would make a deal with the devil. He wasn't going to be stupid however. The Facility had to be close, but there was no way he was letting it be with Kanton's jurisdiction.

He put on a diplomatic, warm smile and shook the man's hand. "I am glad to hear that you would be gracious enough to be a business partner. Unfortunately though, we had already decided to locate the factory near Forladtnr, to facilitate shipping." It was bullshit, but _he _was the lord. Sandsen couldn't really do much even if he could prove he lied. But Sandsen wasn't going to take the blow laying down, either.

"I see. In our case, a two prong approach is best. I put funds forth into the clay pits of Kanton, increasing raw material production and shipment, while you commit your funds to building the Factory and hiring workers on that end."

It was a clever idea, which offered Sandsen what he wanted. To develop the clay pit was the less risky of the two ventures: if the Porcelain factory failed, he could easily sell to the various pottery cottage industry on Kurzheim, while cutting workers and wages. And he still had control over the Porcelain plant, by controlling the materiel needed to make the goods. On the other hand, he was also giving up claim to the real money maker, the factory itself.

Hans nodded, agreeing to the plan of action, even if he was very uneasy about his new "partner." He would pay more than he had wanted, meaning a smaller plant than intended, which was unfortunate. But he was more worried about the jackal of a man he had invited to work with. He would talk to Wagner later about this. If anyone on Kurzheim needed watching, it was Sandsen.

…

Hans and Johanna had started their evening meal, and were quick to discuss a few things, namely, the last meal: lunch with Gregers Sandsen.

"You know that man is a weasel, right?"

"Sandsen? Yes, of course. Why, have you met?"

"No, but I have heard of him. Man is one of the most ruthless industrialists out there. Most would fire strikers or troublemakers. Sandsen makes them disappear."

"That is… unsettling. Know anything else?"

"Well, I know his activities eventually forced him to sell his mine and 'retire', and that despite his charm and manners, he's not exactly one you would be proud to declare a friend."

"Figures the only man who wants to do business with _me _is another monster. Any weaknesses?"

"Well, his only son is a bit of a wimp, really. We might be able to use him to get at his father, if need be."

Hans paused, amazed that the demure woman in front of him just put blackmail and possible hostage taking as a viable option. Maybe he had underestimated Johanna…

As he pondered that thought, another unusual but regular sight occurred. A woman wearing a maid's uniform came up to the table, bowing to Lady Johanna before sitting down to eat near her. Tall, with golden hair held back in a white head piece, matching her white apron and black dress. At first glance this woman would blend in with the other maids, but an attentive eye could catch differences. Her apron, while used was far whiter betraying lack of use, than most of the other maid's. Also, her dress was of better quality and material, revealing a better salary.

Hans had recognized the woman as Johanna's maid of honor from the wedding, and had figured the woman to be her Lady in waiting. When asked however, she had insisted she was just a maid, to the point of not even giving her name. This mystery ended tonight.

"So, Johanna, care to introduce your Lady-in-waiting?"

The woman paused bringing up a spoonful of soup, attempting to deflect the attention. Her green eyes shot daggers as she straightened her posture.

"My lord, I am but a maid-"

"Clearly. That's why you eat with the lady almost every night, instead of with the other staff. And why my housekeeping staff does not have you on the books. You clearly _were _a maid, as the staff knows your name, and is very loyal to you as I haven't hear as much as a peep about you, but let's not fool ourselves."

"Her name is Kristina. She's _my _personal maid, and has been since we were both children. She's a dear friend to me, and that's all you need to know."

Hans nodded, willing to take his small victory. He was puzzled over both ladies intense defensive attitude on the subject, but he was not willing to stick his hand into the badgers nest, especially before such a crucial event as tomorrow. He would let sleeping dogs lie.

…

Kristina closed and locked the door to the North Wing of the Keep behind her, as she lifted the lantern and made her way through the hallway. Of the three wings that jutted out from the central keep, the north was the smallest, with the Upstairs being the most restricted ward. Formerly the childcare wing, the wing was repurposed by Johanna into her private sanctum. While Hans was certainly allowed access, Johanna had subtlety hinted that he was a visitor there, not a resident. Kristina was the only staff allowed access, as not even Klara ventured here.

Johanna had kept and updated her childhood bedroom, while Kristina stayed in the old Nanny's room. The other rooms, once meant to be rooms for other children, had become Johanna's personal library, study, and hobby room. It was not too difficult to keep a few rooms clean, especially when the only one using them was as neat as Lady Johanna was.

Kristina entered her Lady's room, to see Johanna preparing for bed, already in her evening gown. Kristina had already prepared the room for the evening, and was only was checking one last time to ensure everything was to her mistress and friend's expectation, as well as talk in some privacy.

She turned the lock so the door would lock when the door was closed and she stepped in.

"Anything else, My Lady?"

"You can cut that out you know. I really don't care what Hans thinks of our… friendship."

"He still puts me off, Johanna. So I'm careful. Besides, he may get jealous."

"I don't care what he thinks Kristina. Not yet anyways."

She looked at Franz's portrait, pausing with sorrow.

"He was a good man, Johanna, but you need to stop _torturing_ yourself over him!"

"I don't know Kristina. I'm open to the possibility of loving Hans now, but it still feels wrong! Like I'm betraying _him…_"

"Well, Hans being a bastard aside, Franz would want you to be happy. It's been three years, it's not wrong to find another man to love. We can never replace Franz, but it's not wrong for a young, beautiful woman such as yourself to _move on._"

Johanna nodded, having avoided another crying spell thanks to the sage advice of her oldest friend. Kristina decided a change of conversation, and mood, was needed.

"Besides, to be _fair, _you haven't been completely loyal to Franz, you know. And I've been wondering if your marriage changes things. Like it did with Franz." Kristina added while smiling devilishly.

"No, Hans isn't there _yet._" Johanna smiled back, while sitting on her bed. "It's been since before I got married, hasn't it?"

"I haven't pushed things, because of concern over your marriage, my lady." Kristina gently kicked the door closed with her heel of her shoe, locking them in from the outside world. "Care for a _revisit _of the old days, before the Grandmother arrives?" Kristina closed in, gently stroking Johanna's cheek.

"I don't see any reason not to…"

With that the two women locked lips, as Kristina gently pushed Johanna onto the perfectly made bed, while undoing the bow holding her apron in place. Johanna's hand fumbled for the lamp, extinguishing the lamp, leaving the two to continue their passion in the darkness.

…

August 31st, 1840

Mere moments before the Queen Dowager's visit.

The Pier of Forladtnr was a cesspool of organized chaos. The Queen's ship was sailing into harbor as last minute changes and planning was conducted. Soldiers from 3rd platoon scrambled from place to place as the site where their formation was to be held kept changing, leading to both Oleg and the newly promoted Sergeant Major Wulfhart becoming quite agitated. Everything was about image, to the point that even Wulfhart wore the Southern Isle white rather than the Prussian blue. The Regimental musicians stood by to play the Nation Anthem, among other things.

On the civilian side, Hans and Johanna struggled to position the staff in a neat and orderly formation, as the skeleton staff still on duty rushed to finish preparations for the Queen Dowager's arrival. Hans had been up since dawn, tired and weary from days of preparing while still not neglecting his duties. He had hardly noticed that Johanna had slept in, and her slightly improved mood. Even now, a stream of staff had been bringing concerns to him.

"My lord, what sheets am I to put out-"One maid began before being cut off.

"Green, the finest sheets we have in that regard. Use mine if need be!"

Chef Hauser ran up, out of breath. He had stayed at his post in the kitchen till the last second, preparing the kitchen for today. But there was details he needed. "My Lord, anything I should know about the Queen Dowager's taste in food?"

Hans' mind raced, trying to remember dinner with his Grandmother, if she had any obvious taste for certain dishes. Nothing.

"Klara!"

The older woman appeared behind him, black book in hand. "Yes my Lord?"

"Anything on the Queen Dowager's food tastes?"

She flipped quickly to a dog eared page, bringing up her reading glasses up for a moment, before letting them drop back to her chest, held up by a string around her neck. "No seafood, tolerates vegetables, enjoys baked goods."

"Chef Hauser."

"I can make do, my lord." He bowed and turned, swearing under his breath, as most of his ingredients were seafood. However, he had spare materials, and with hard work, the Queen Dowager would eat well tonight.

Hans turned, sweating as the ship edged alongside the pier, Sailors making preparations to dock onboard. On the Pier, the staff had finally sorted themselves out, forming a neat line. The Soldiers and Band moved a last time, before waiting at parade rest. Wiping away the sweat on his brow and checking his pocket watch, he straightened his uniform and moved to his assigned spot.

The official reception party consisted of Hans, Johanna, Klara, Oleg, and Kristina. The stood neatly, in silence as the Marines aboard the ship formed up, ready to present their official party. The first was the Captain, moving to the top of the gang plank as the moment they had waited for arrived.

Footsteps sounded, preempting an older woman who despite her age, still had a well-shaped figure and tremendous grace and beauty. Wearing a Grey Dress with green gemmed and golden cased jewelry and tiara, gloved hands and good boots, she walked smoothly and briskly for any non-sailor, let alone one in her early 60's. Her once vivid red hair only had a few dull streaks left in an otherwise grey mane, still quite impressive, as was her relative lack of wrinkles. She was the talk of royal courts everywhere, on just how a woman her age still looked decades younger. Not even Hans knew.

As she approached the plank, the Captain began to announce her titles.

"Presenting the Queen Dowager, mother to our beloved Queen and Grandmother to the Crown Prince-"

The Queen Dowager, propped herself up, clutching her hands as her blue eyes cast a cold glare at her Grandson, a stare that always proceeded a stern scolding. The Military band began a drum roll that would roll into the Nation anthem, as the Honor Guard gave preparatory command for Present Arms.

"-Queen Ariel, of the Southern Isles!"

The Command of Execution was given as the soldiers presented their rifles while their officers saluted sharply, with their colors lowered in salute. The Band rolled right into the national anthem as Queen Ariel calmly and gracefully strode off the ship, as the greeting party bowed. The former Queen quickly approached her grandson, coldly starting into his eyes as he recovered.

"You've been a bad boy, Hans."

Bit of Notes-

Good news is I finally got off of having 12 hours of duty every day. Bad news is I generally have 8 hours of tower guard, every day. At least in terms of 1 week on, one week off. So sadly, stuff still takes forever to update, and will likely continue to do so. However, in the Christmas spirit, I will **TRY **to post the start the next sequel to Faith and Duty around Christmas. Key word- TRY. Even our week off is technically patrol week, which means long missions, some lasting more than a day. As always, Hans' Fate will limp along, as governing and political games are not my strong suite, but it is fun.

Elephant in the room- Johanna and Kristina. I don't know why, but the idea popped in my head and it just made sense. Maybe it's my male mind being biased, but it does. However, for those of you worried this will become smut, don't. I still intend to keep this story "classy" and next chapter will go deeper into the two woman's relationship, explaining why they are a thing.

Also I don't write sex scenes. I just don't. I'm not afraid to tell people that characters are going to, or have had sex, but that is one thing I do not feel comfortable on. I'd be tempted to "contract" it out to other writers, but that would add stupidly long amounts of time to the already crappy 2+ week update time. I'm not opposed to the idea of doing so in the future, when I have much more time on my hands and adding a week of back and forth correspondence isn't such a bad thing. Then again, if you all react negatively to the idea, I have no problems with that. Certainly makes my life easier.

Second Elephant in the Room. Yes, that's Ariel from the little Mermaid. And Yes, Melody from the Little Mermaid 2 is Hans' mother. Let that _sink _in. Ha, couldn't help it. And yes, I did refer to the Ballroom scene from the latter movie, in which the young boy offering a dance to Melody being a very young King (then Sir) Frederick. The lore has the Southern Isles be effectively Denmark, and Eric is also hinted at being from Denmark, so I decided to mix the two universes together. Some changes will be made that might upset purists, but I do try to keep true to both Frozen and The Little Mermaid.

Glossary-

Queen Dowager- A widowed Queen. In countries where a King usually rules, or the crown passed down to the next generation, a Queen that survives her husband but doesn't take the crown is not just forgotten. If the Queen was the Mother of the sitting King, she becomes the Queen Mother. In this case, after King Eric passed, the crown passed to his Daughter's husband, King Frederick. Had Elsa married before her coronation, this is what would have likely happened.


	7. Chapter 7- A Red Dawn

May 10th, 1809

Kesselburg, Southern Isles

Queen Ariel arose to a beautiful morning, walking out onto the Balcony. The sun had a reddish tint as the sun rose over the thick misty sea. A red dawn. Despite 17 wonderful years with Eric, she had never grasped the meaning of the old sailor's superstition. No matter if there was rain or not, today would be wonderful. This afternoon they would finally announce to the world the existence of Atlantica as well as some other news. She rubbed her now swollen belly, smiling that Melody would _finally _have siblings, now that Morgana was no longer around to threaten her family.

Having woken and dressed hours ago, Ariel quickly turned about to head downstairs. She was greeted by castle staff, as she quickly made her way into the ballroom. Ornate and beautifully decorated, it was full of people gathered for Princess Melody's 16th Birthday. However, none stood out quite like the reason for the party.

Melody was now 16 had had come into her own as a woman. Gone was the awkward teenage girl who felt alien and out of place at the royal court. If anything, Melody was now a star on the dance floor, and many had already proposed arranged marriages between their children and her. Ariel would not budge on the subject. Mermaids married for love, and the idea of auctioning off her only teenage child put her in a foul mood. Most would-be suitors backed off after a stern lecture. All but _him._

His name was Frederick of Tågeøen. The son of a minor Knight, his father didn't have the gall to even _suggest _that a lowly noble such as him marry the Princess of all people, but that didn't stop Frederick. The young man tried and failed as a 12 year old, before disappearing for years. Now 16 as well, he had reappeared, grown and mature. He never did anything to disrespect or sully the young girl's honor, but he seemingly always there to court Melody.

The thing that troubled Ariel was Melody wasn't too troubled by this. Melody even admitted that despite an earlier grudge, she was starting to take a liking to the try-hard young man. The only thing stopping Ariel from barring him from the palace was her own experience at that age. Love should set its own course, as much as she didn't like it. However she could always offer advice.

She quietly strode up next to her daughter, the two sharing a moment of quiet peace before Ariel started.

"So- about Frederick…"

"Mother!" Melody immediately protested, rolling her eyes. "You _promised _you wouldn't interfere with my love life!"

Ariel raised her hands slightly, trying ease the situation. "I won't interfere, I'm simply advising you on some realities."

Melody sighed, before crossing her arms but still listening to her mother. They both knew from experience that bad things happen when you don't listen to parental advice.

"Listen, about Frederick. While I'm not saying I know for sure, we have to face reality. You are the Crown Princess. Who _you _marry will be King. Boys _will _try to woo you to win the crown. Frederick may be simply playing you."

"I know that mom. But I honestly think Frederick likes me for _me."_

"I hope so dear. I just don't want you getting hurt." She paused, before recalling a certain other suitor. "Whatever happened to that nice merfolk boy?"

"Ah, _him._" Melody recalled the merboy she met on her fateful journey 4 years ago. "He was too obsessed, Mom. He didn't want anything but _me_. It seemed unhealthy to me."

Ariel did draw some comfort from that. Some girls would date such a boy to be pampered and waited on, instead of developing a healthy give-and-take relationship. That her daughter wanted real love gave her comfort.

_Please, don't let her get hurt._

Despite the worried mother's hopes, Melody would be very hurt today.

…

Remy shivered as the long boat made its way through the mist. While he was grateful for the mist as it hid the landing party, he wished the warm rays of the sun would bask him with their warmth. Visibility wasn't great, but he could still see jagged rocks jutting out of the ocean, the experienced sailors making their way around them. It was surreal landscape, at least for him.

Remy was a French conscript of the _Grande Armée _under Napoleon, having been called up from his farming village to fight in the never-ending wars. He had never travelled outside of 25 miles from his farm, and yet here he was preparing to fight the Norsemen.

Remy was not educated. At all. Being illiterate, the young farm boy had no knowledge of the outside world other than the sometimes fantastical stories and rumors he heard. As such, he half-expected that he would be fighting the Nordic giants, armed with axes and horned helmets. As such he shook from much more than the cold.

The shoreline approached, just below the castle walls. The mist was particularly thick here, so the barely focused Marines walking the beat could not see them, or hear them over the lapping of the sea. The passengers dismounted, joining an already sizeable group gathered there. French Marines, Sappers and various types of infantry crouched in absolute silence, only waiting on one more wave before they began their assault.

An officer checked his timepiece, before returning it. He turned and addressed his soldiers in a raised whisper. "Right on schedule, boys. Don't worry, we'll be out of this damn mist soon enough!"

…

Ariel was about to enter the bedroom for the 3rd time in an hour when the door, revealing her husband of almost 17 years, King Eric. Dressed in a White Naval uniform for the occasion, his once black hair still contained streaks of the hair color of his youth with grey shocks having recently appeared. Despite this and the first wrinkles, he still looked terribly handsome after all these years, even if he was late this morning. Ariel greeted her finally awake Husband with a deep kiss while clutching her arms around him. Pulling out of the kiss, she smiled and greeted him.

"Good Morning, Dear."

"Good Morning to you too, beautiful."

"Are you ready to be seen by the public?"

Eric smiled, his eyes weary though. He certainly did not enjoy some of the aspects of his job, wishing for simpler days when he was merely responsible for a single ship and its crew, not an entire Nation involved in the greatest war in Human history. But he would never sell his family short.

"I am as ready as I'm ever going to be. Let's do this."

Eric took her by the arm and escorted her down the hall. As was normal, they began to talk about things that had happened so far in the day, one of the keys to their happy marriage.

"Well, Melody _still _doesn't mind that Tågeøen boy, unfortunately."

"Say what you will about him, that boy tries hard. And that's a good thing in my book."

"I'm worried that he's more in love with the crown than our daughter."

"That may be, but we have to accept that Melody is a Crown Princess. We have to accept that the crown is part of the equation. It be very unfortunate if she married a man who had no desire for the crown and was therefore incompetent. Frederick is hardly the worse boy she could marry."

Ariel paused, starting to put the pieces together. While a decent father, Eric had previously had little to no interest in any of Melodies suitors beyond "You dishonor her, and I'll kill you." Knowing Frederick's name and speaking positively of him didn't sit right.

"…that boy talked to you, didn't he?"

"He was the perfect gentleman! He's smart, military, and well-mannered, he seems genuinely interested in our daughter!"

"Because you are _such_ a good judge of character. That's why you nearly married Ursula."

"She used magic! I thought she saved my life because she stole your voice!" He sighed, somewhat calming down. "Look, I'm not saying we need to set a wedding for next week, and I want Melody to choose. But Frederick is a good choice, and he has my blessing- for now."

"If you choose, dear. For now, I'll keep my blessing until I'm sure."

It was an argument, but any two people are bound to disagree on something. Though at odds, when the two reached the door leading to the main ballroom, they smiled at each other genuinely, before entering through.

…

Remy smiled as a familiar face climbed off the boat, his brother Emile. As compared to Remy's own black hair and fairly average appearance and height, his brother had inherited their mother's brown hair, and his father's large stocky build. His brother had left the farm behind when Remy was called up with the _levy, _as while Remy was likely better prepared for the battlefield, as an older brother Emile felt it was his duty to watch out for Remy.

The two hugged as the older brother joined the assaulting party, before the rasp of an officer's sword told them that brotherly love had to wait. The officer turned, addressing the men.

"We attack now. If we win, we dine and sleep like kings tonight. If we fail, we will be slaughtered. Stick to bayonets and sabers until the alarm is sounded, and follow the orders of your officers, but most of all attack!"

"Lutte pour la France, la lutte pour Napoléon, et se battre pour l'autre!"

…

Melody smiled as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd, now approaching toward her. Wearing a simple yet sharp Army uniform and his blond hair topping his maturing face, Frederick smiled back as he approached the Crown Princess. Reaching her, he bowed before greeting himself despite the two knowing each other very well.

"Your Highness, it is a pleasure to see you again." He smoothly said as he leaned down, kissing her gloved hand, causing her to blush.

"It is a pleasure to see you too." She returned, smiling.

"Care for a dance?" He asked somewhat boldly, not too much of a risk considering they had danced at lower key events before, but there where matters to be taken into account.

It was her 16th Birthday, the beginning of open season for courtship. While backroom offers had been made before, the yet unclaimed princess would soon be of age to get married, if not already. Her mother was only 16 when she was married, let alone engaged. So the sight of a Crown Princess dancing with a noble so low ranking on the totem pole he didn't have a title was certainly unorthodox.

However Melody was anything but Orthodox.

"Yes, I would." As the two embraced and stepped off to the beat of the current waltz, the young man decided now was the proper time to tell her everything.

"I'm afraid this will likely be our last dance, your Highness."

"What are you talking about?" She asked, incredulously.

"I had my father purchase a commission. I do not know where I will go, but it will be away from here."

"Why?" Melody eyes began to slightly water. What they had was hardly true love yet, but both were fond of each other. Melody would hate to lose one of the few people who had the courage to befriend her.

"It's for the best. Melody, the only way they'd allow us to marry is the morganic way. You deserve a life of comfort and privilege, not the life of a dame of some two-bit piece of land."

"You don't know what life I want!" She said in a raised voice. As upset as she was, she hardly wanted to make a scene on the ballroom floor. "It's my life, I should have a choice in how I live it!"

"I'm afraid it's too late now. I leave in the morning. Nothing can stop this." He paused, fighting back his own emotions. He did after all, love her. But loving someone meant letting go for their sake. "Nothing can stop this now."

The waltz had just ended, leaving Frederick to bow before turning his back on the Princess. As he left the room, he finally allowed tears come to his eyes.

…

Remy watched with fascination and horror as the sailor crept bare-foot up to the Marine, before silently and viciously dispatching him. With one hand clasping his mouth and the other violently jabbing a small knife into his kidney. The sheer pain of the assault caused the guard to black out, and blood loss would ensure that he would stay down.

The sailor was one of a few men hand-picked for their criminal past, as Remy was sure the man had used this technique to assassinate rival criminals in Paris or Marseilles. The sailor gestured to the group as they crept forward. The wall was secured silently and now the assault party moved down the stairs to the courtyard, moving into assault positions.

One group was positioned outside the barracks, as they would assault and clear out the building. Doing so would wipe out the majority of the Marine Guards, ensuring the rest of the battle would be mere mop up.

Remy and Emile were part of the main force that would secure the keep of the castle proper, and hopefully capture or kill the cursed royalty. It was still foggy, allowing them to literally walk up to the two men guarding the main entrance.

The two marines squinted their eyes in an attempt to read the rank of the apparent officer approaching them. So engrained in garrison life that they did not seriously question why the officer's saber was drawn or why he had a group of soldiers following him.

As the Marine gave the proper greeting of the day in Danish, the officer simply thrust his saber into the man's chest. The Marine was too shocked to even scream, as he keeled over. The other man, faced with cold steel dropped his musket, feebly raising his hands up in an attempt to save his life. A French soldier simply grabbed him and dragged him off to a designated prisoner holding point. Orders were to take prisoners- Napoleon needed cannon fodder for his wars, after all.

The door was now secure, as the group braced for the breach. The sailors were dismissed, sent off to guard prisoners and secure the gates, as the time for knives had ended. It was now time for bayonets. Things were about to get loud.

The officer glanced at his men, who nodded in return as a silent indication of readiness. Nodding back, he turned and proceeded to slam his foot into the door, which gave way. Neither side had any idea how bloody the next hour would be.

It was after all, a Red Dawn.

August 31st, 1840

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

Johanna was baffled.

While she certainly hadn't known Hans for his whole life, she had felt she had gotten a certain stock of him, that stock being that of a cold blooded psychopath. Image was everything to Hans as far as she could tell, with special consideration to the opinion of Hans' family. He consistently went to extreme pains to act dignified and respectable when in the presence of these people.

And yet, with the arrival of the Queen Dowager Ariel, arguably the most beloved and respected woman in the Kingdom had reduced Hans to a quivering shadow. Instead of the cold blooded killer she was familiar with, she saw a boy who was in fear of a spanking.

Finding herself in uncharted waters Johanna decided it was best to simply sit back and observe.

Hans sat in uneasy silence as they began dinner.

To his staff's credit, they had done remarkably well in the preparations for the Queen Dowager, given the lack of prior notification. Even now, they ate a traditional dumpling and chicken meatball soup, without a trace of seafood. He really was grateful to Chef Hauser and Klara. It would appear that they would be keeping their jobs.

But none of this helped with the issue at hand. Sitting across from him was his grandmother, and she scared the shit out of him.

He didn't know what it was that scared him so. Other than assisting with spanking as a child, Ariel had never really beat on the young prince. His father had used his wooden fist more than once on Hans, and yet Hans never cringed when seeing his father nor did his mere voice didn't cause him to submit.

There was something subconscious that made Hans fear and obey his grandmother, though he didn't quite what. He looked at his grandmother subtlety, once again looking for any explanation for why she had such a control over him. No luck.

Ignoring her grandson's observing, Ariel began to make friendly conversation with the newlywed wife.

"So Johanna, what does the local nobility do for entertainment around here?"

"Well your Highness, there really isn't much of a courting scene here in Kurzheim. There is a few Knights and Dames on the Island, but I'm afraid we really don't congregate very often."

"Please, call me Ariel. There's little need for titles here. I found that they can have a… _corrupting _influence on some people." Ariel spoke with such grace and kindness, even though her eyes shot daggers at a silent Hans.

"I would recommend that you do organize more social gatherings, dear. I doesn't hurt to make friends with the movers and shakers of the island, and noble life otherwise can get very dull. Besides, you could really use some _decent_ company."

Johanna was starting to notice a pattern from the Queen dowager. Judging on how casual she was in her either sarcastic or snide remarks about Hans, this had little to do with the incident in Arendelle. Johanna got the impression that Ariel had a deeper and long lasting antipathy for the young man, one that went back _years. _Perhaps Hans did something long ago that forever sealed the Queen Dowager's opinion of him, or perhaps it was the sins of the father that condemned Hans.

"So far I've come to somewhat enjoy Hans' company, Ariel. Perhaps I was wise in approaching His Majesty for help in my betrothal."

It wasn't the most subtle way of figuring out Queen Ariel's opinions, but Johanna took the risk. She had remembered being told that while wise and fairly intelligent, even after all these years Ariel was not the best at playing "the game" of the court.

The risk paid off. Secure in her position, and no longer in a position of power that had to be fought over, forcing her to watch everything she said, Ariel quickly played into Johanna's hand.

"Well dear, you place more trust in his Majesty's judgment than I do, between you and me."

It was clear to Johanna now. Ariel hated the King, not his son. And as a continuation of his father, that doomed Hans to Ariel's wrath. Arendelle had very little to do with the Queen's opinion, likely only reinforcing her dislike and allowing her to me more open about it.

And as such, she classified Ariel as a rival. While she suspected she would get tired of hearing her grandmother in law put down her husband, she had little issue with her disliking Hans. It was Ariel's emotional aspects that bugged Johanna.

Johanna respected the King, because the King was an intelligent man with a good heart, but cold blood. He preferred to do the right thing, but he was never enslaved by his morality. And as such the Southern Isles had prospered. The reign of King Eric suffered because he was too good for his own damn good. And look where it got him.

No, Johanna would rather let a cold-blooded murderer run the country than see an emotional do-gooder run the show.

As she pondered her next move, the table as a whole was interrupted. Kristina entered the room, her hands matted and stained with animal blood as she worked to clean them with a cloth. She approached Johanna's side and began to softly speak in her ear.

"My lady, the butchered pork is almost ready."

"Good Kristina, I will take a look after dinner."

Hans found some of Kristina's many talents, such as her butchering skills, odd. But considering the delectable quality of some of the past meals, as well as Hauser's praise of her meat, he had no issues with it.

But while he didn't mind the sight, a serving-woman was nauseous at both the sight and smell of the blood. As such she nearly gagged, causing her to spill Wine on the Queen Dowager. It was a minor spill, most of it landing on the Queen's golden necklace and bare skin of her neckline, but enough to bring the dinner's pace to a screeching halt. Hans stood up, wincing at the oncoming shouting he expected his grandmother to lay on him for the Servant's clumsiness, while Johanna was horrified at the prospect of ruining her reputation as a host and housekeeper because of one maid's weak stomach.

However, Ariel's temper remained calm, as she simply stood up in shock, as the maid recoiled in horror, sure she was to be fired for the incident. Ariel simply began patting down the spill site with her tablecloth, as she chuckled.

"Oops, that got a little messy."

Johanna, though, was in damage control mode. "Kristina, take care of the mess."

"Yes, my lady." She moved over to the Queen, immediately undoing her necklace. "I'm sorry your Highness, I'll have this jewelry cleaned in a few minutes. I also will be sure to draw you a bath of your preference and have this dress cleaned by the morning."

Ariel almost protested, but the Lady-in-waiting had already removed the necklace and had passed it off to a passing maid before she could raise an objection. As such she reluctantly let the issue past.

"Very well. I do find myself tired from the trip, so I do believe I will retire for the night."

"As you wish, your highness."

…

Kristina entered the kitchen, where the clumsy maid stood, head bowed in shame. Kristina was sure to look about, sure to ensure they were alone.

"We're alone now. Well done, Madalena."

"They bought it?"

"Yes, they did." Kristina approached the maid, slipping coins into her hand. "That's two weeks' pay. If anyone asks, you were suspended without pay for a week. Remember, do not buy anything until you are paid again."

"Too easy, Kristina."

Madalena left, as Kristina smiled. Madalena was Kristina's go to maid whenever it came to conducting irregular or less than legal activities in the interests of Lady Kurzheim. Incredibly average in appearance- nothing stood out about the woman, so she seamlessly blended in with the other servants. This allowed her freedom to be used repeatedly, as long as it wasn't done too often.

Kristina hired her on a case by case basis, sure to use her own income to supplement the woman's pay to ensure no paper trail. As the good Lady Kurzheim herself knew nothing of the arrangement, true deniability could be kept, as Kristina had enough judgment on the matter to not overdo it.

And thus, the reason for the "heist." She stared at the necklace, engrossed in its details. Made of gold with inlaid pearls, it was a common enough looking necklace. But looks were deceiving. Kristina sensed the magic radiating out from the jewelry, enough to know that while the object itself wasn't very powerful, it was part of something that was.

But she had no interest in such things. She closed her eyes and thought of her devotion and love to her lady and mistress as she waved her hand over the necklace, effortlessly dispelling the power it once held. Now powerless, she placed the clean necklace onto a silver tray to be delivered to the Queen Dowager. Having a grasp for these sort of things, she also knew that the Queen was no enchantress herself, and would not notice any difference from the necklace. At least not until she attempted to use whatever spell was enchanted onto it. While she could sense magic, her ability to identify it was less refined. She could only determine that the spell was one of bending wills, and therefore a possible threat to her Lady.

This was the service she had provided to her Lady since they were but young girls, although one she exercised in secret. The only two that knew was her Mother and the previous Lady Kurzheim, Johanna's mother. As Johanna's mother had passed and her own mother had no interest in revealing the secret to another soul, one that may be less than understanding of her gift, Johanna was kept in the dark.

Kristina herself had never questioned her mother on the matter. When she was a child, she had blindly followed her mother's rule. And when she hit the normally rebellious teenage years, her feelings blossomed for the young Johanna. As such the young serving girl never revealed _anything _that might cause her target of affection to reject her.

This willingness to please led to other things as well. Darker things. She exited the side room, the tray in hand. She found a junior maid to pass it off to, instructing her to deliver the jewelry to the Queen Dowager. That taken of, she headed to the main kitchen and into the main meat locker. Hardly a large room as the manor hardly had the funding necessary to keep enough ice to keep meat cool for prolonged periods, it had its share of secrets. She closed and barred the door behind her, as she had long ago established she needed privacy for her work.

She hung her white apron up onto the rack before removing and donning her stained apron, the one she used for her butcher's work. She then set about to the opposite side of the room past the pig she had earlier worked on, to open the hidden door on the far side of the manor. Stepping inside was the small dark room, with stone walls and stone floor, with a simple drain in the middle of the room, as it had previously been part of the meat locker and as such needed a place for the blood to go. A recent addition, Johanna herself had this room built, just as Lady Johanna was responsible for its occupant.

A man hung by his wrists, chained to the ceiling with his feet slumped against the floor as he no longer had the strength to stand. He was covered with bruises, cuts, and other wounds that had been inflicted since he was captured. Kristina ignored the man's ragged breathing as she began inspecting the tools of her trade, as she coldly remarked to the tortured man.

"Now. Where were we?"

…

Bit of Notes-

Okay so I did the math by plotting out all the key events of the Frozen and Little Mermaid universe. Long story short, I messed a few things up. Last chapter I described Ariel as being in her 70's, when she is only 64. Also the first chapter describes King Frederick and the late King Agdar as having served together against the Austrians in a "Battle of the Black Forest." I have since changed things to have the battle be the Battle of Waterloo and Ligny, with both still being younger than Hans is, but not as young as I originally intended. I have as such updated the Chapters in question to correct this.

As for the flashback, next chapter will contain more, with possibly a third flashback after that, based on length and pacing.

My apologies for the extremely long length since the last chapter. I had been so focused on getting to the reveal of Ariel as Hans' Grandmother that I completely failed to plan for what happened next. As such I was hit with a terrible case of writer's block. This combined with the busy schedule of deployment led to a much longer interrupt than I planned for. Here's hoping Chapter gets her soon.

-Dragunov

Translations-

"Lutte pour la France, la lutte pour Napoléon, et se battre pour l'autre!"-Fight for France, Fight for Napoleon, and fight for each other!


	8. Chapter 8- A Cornered rat

May 10th, 1809

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles

It was like a dream.

As Remy leaned against the wall, he saw the Officer kick the door open as the first few men pushed into the palace. Like a helpless witness to a dream he watched his body get pushed in by the men behind him as the storming party pushed into the Castle.

There was furious screaming in both French and Danish as his fellow soldiers pointed muskets and bayonets in an attempt to cow the gathered audience, yelling commands in their native tongue. The hand-picked officers did their best to command the nobles in Danish to not resist, but their orders went unheeded over the din of panicked screams in Danish and yelled shouts in French.

Remy barely heard the shout of his _Caporal, _who stood merely feet from him. "_Merde, _where did all these people come from?" _Caporal _Jean Fournier was his squad leader and no-nonsense veteran of previous battles going back years. Seeing him troubled worried Remy tremendously.

Intelligence had failed the storming party immensely. While the officers and NCOs knew the layout of the castle, guard numbers, and VIPs that needed to be captured, no-one had bothered to check the schedule to see if the chosen assault day was also a day of occasion. And thus, no-one knew it was the Crown Princess' Birthday ball.

In the confusion of the crowd, the Royal Family was forced to "safety" by the handful of Marines that stood near them, as flustered French soldiers fired a few shots at them.

It wasn't against orders, as the soldiers had been ordered to capture or kill the Royal Family at all costs, but it was the wrong move. The gathered nobility had descended into panic, with the crowd either running away from the French, dropping to the ground, or trying to push _through _the French to the main exit.

A number of Marines had arrived from an upper wing, joining the ones already in the ballroom. The Marines who had stood guard in the ballroom were purely ceremonial, armed only with sabers. They were posted to escort drunk nobility to their rooms, not to repel a French assault. The reinforcements, however were armed with muskets, which they recklessly fired at the French.

The crowd attempting to escape aided their enemy in unwitting treason, as the lead balls hit almost entirely civilians attempting to escape, as Remy saw an elderly noblewoman arc her back as she was slammed with a musket ball, screaming as she fell and died.

Finding themselves in a bad place and disciplined enough to not retreat, the French soldiers dealt with the still large crowd pushing against them the only way they knew how- force. Having been raised during the revolution, they had little love for the nobility. The young men mercilessly began to viciously beat back and subdue the crowd with steel plated musket-butts, slamming into sternums and face alike. Remy was sickened as he even saw a few of his comrades "accidently" stick the nobility with their bayonets, causing horrific screams.

It wasn't long before they pushed through the crowd and faced the Marine guards. Remy was shocked by the abrupt end of the crowd, pausing a moment when he finally broke into the open. The moment was fleeting however, as he found himself face to face with an Islander Marine. An officer, the larger man thought nothing as he attempted to bring the sword down on the French conscript the way he had brought his sword down on rioters in the past.

Remy gritted his teeth as he lifted his bayoneted musket in a blocking position, parrying the blow as he twisted and jabbed. As his bayonet sank into the Marine's chest, Remy screamed as he pushed down, bringing the officer to the surface of the marble floor, as reasoning kicked in again. He looked down in horror as the enemy soldier, nay, a man lay impaled on his bayonet, gasping as he died. Remy felt the final, violent shocks through his musket before he lay still, forever.

Remy stood in horror, as he stared down at the lifeless corpse, before Fournier grabbed him by the shoulder.

"He's dead _mon ami. _But there plenty more sticking to be done. Go!"

And with that the soldier pushed forward in a daze, into yet more deadly combat.

…

The royal family was rushed through the hallways, the King with his saber drawn and leading the way as a few marines formed a barrier around his wife and daughter. The path they took toward the designated evacuation point would have resulted in a flawless evacuation, if not for the French that were seemingly coming out of the woodwork. Seemingly every corner brought another group of blue and white uniformed men screaming in French and a discharge of muskets. Most of the time they missed, but it wasn't long before Melody noticed that there was noticeably fewer men in the protection detail.

However they reached the door way that led down to the hidden boat room and encountered the rally point that had been established there. A number of marines and castle staff had gathered, calmly awaiting the Royal Family so they could evacuate as well. As such Melody was surprised to find Frederick there as well, face sooty from having discharged a musket multiple times. Still wearing the white uniform (though now dirtied) of the army as opposed to the blue of the Marines, he certainly looked more rugged with an artillery carbine slung and a pistol tucked into a belt, with a marine's kit strapped on.

All of this was undone by the boyish grin he grew upon seeing that Melody was safe and unharmed. "Melody!" He shouted as the two teens embraced.

"Frederick, you're alive!" Melody sobbed into his shoulder, clutching him tightly. But before they could continue the day's earlier conversation, reality knocked. An officer stood on a bench, demanding attention.

"The King and his family are here! Prepare to move out!"

…

Ariel was worried about the reappearance of Frederick, for a variety of reasons. All of them having to do with his presence selling false hope. If he were to be killed in front of her, it would devastate Melody. If he were to be left behind, it would break her heart. Hell, even if he survived, and then did what he did earlier today, she would be crushed. No it was better if he was a foggy memory, an object forgotten about in the rush to get out the door.

She was slightly horrified about that last thought. Did she really compare a human being to a mere object? She felt bad, but she considered it necessary. She had a daughter to worry about. Not only that, she was keeping an eye on all the castle staff, as well as their families trying to get out. Innocents caught in the middle of the war, just trying to live their lives. And most important to her was the young child that grew in her stomach, for whom any sacrifice was acceptable. No, she had little pity for the ex-suitor of her daughter.

But now was not the time to think of that. She knew the path well, and as thus smiled when she saw the familiar statue, knowing the staircase down to the boat room was merely down the stairs. She thus didn't think as she turned the corner, smiling.

Her heart froze when she saw French marines gathered at the indoor dock mere yards away. However, they were busy securing their boat and had not posted a sentry yet. As thus, her mind instantly switched, her lips about to move to inform the group about the alternate passage to another boathouse. The soldiers could secure the boats here and the civilians could fit on the secondary craft.

But she never got the chance.

It wasn't Frederick's fault, not really. He had drawn his pistol when he had too turned the corner, but his sharp mind had too reasoned that discretion was the better option. Besides, he wouldn't fire the first shot without orders. However an unknown Marine panicked and raised his musket, discharging it.

Swearing violently, Frederick too raised his pistol and shot, his reflexes being that the ball was down range within a second of the first.

As such with all that adrenaline fogging her mind, Ariel turned her head and determined that Frederick was the man who shot first. So to her, he was to blame for what happened next.

The French marines shouted and abandoned their task, grabbing their muskets and discharging a volley towards them. Ariel saw them raise the muskets, and it seem as though time slowed down as she stared at the Frenchmen. As thus she didn't see Frederick grab her daughter, forming a human shield. Nor did she see how doing so prevented a musket round from hitting her daughter. She didn't even hear her husband scream for her to get down.

She did hear the discharge, however. And she saw an Islander marine twist as a musket ball caught him in the shoulder and exited his back, still speeding forward.

Impacting her directly in the stomach. Her _womb._

She reached down and touched the bullet wound, raising the bloody hand to her face. Reality and pain sinking in, Ariel collapsed from shock, the last things her eyes saw was her husband sprinting towards her.

…

Eric felt his soul shatter when he saw the wound. It wasn't real. God _couldn't _be that cruel, could he? He couldn't kill an unborn child, _his _unborn child. As thus he simply denied what his eyes revealed to him. All that mattered was getting his wife and child, no, _children _to safety.

However, the primary boathouse was in enemy hands now. And the secondary one was accessible only by a false well down the hall. He had built a secondary entrance on the outside that could have been climbed down to, but now that they had been discovered, it was too late for that.

As he solemnly led the party to the small room his existing fears had been reconfirmed. The well had been built as an escape route for children. And while it was spacious enough to allow a fairly thin adult woman to escape, there was no way he'd fit…

He sighed, gathering courage to face his end with courage. Holding back tears, he turned to that Frederick boy, the one his daughter seemed so fond of. Seeing he was only slightly wounded, he felt that he was the ideal candidate for the mission.

"Frederick, I have a mission for you. You are small enough, so you can go where I cannot. I need you to lead my wife, my daughter, and anyone else who can fit to safety. I need you to keep them safe."

"But what about you, your Majesty?"

"I'm too large to fit. I have to stay behind."

Frederick quietly bowed his head, speechless at the thought that his noble King was going to stay behind and cover his family's escape. A true warrior king. He nodded and began to turn towards the small well leading down to the boat room. Before he could, Eric grabbed his arm.

"One last thing boy. I saw what you did for my daughter. If she does choose you, continue to be worthy of both her and the Kingdom. If you can do this you have my blessing." He padded his shoulder and left the room, taking one look at both his daughter and wife. He desperately wanted to hold them one last time, but there was no time for a long goodbye. He considered his sacrifice as his final embrace to his family.

As such he entered the hall in front of the well room, where a handful of Marines had stood fast, ready to meet the oncoming Frenchmen that were certain to come through the opposite door any moment now. A surviving officer saluted, before reporting.

"Your Majesty, I report 5 men remain unwounded, with 4 lightly wounded, and 7 seriously wounded but capable of bearing arms. Your orders, sire?"

"We know what Napoleon does to prisoners. He doesn't need any more cannon fodder. So we won't be giving him any."

"As you wish, your majesty."

…

Remy and a group of other soldiers crossed themselves as the priest blessed them. It was an odd moment of international unity as the priest wasn't French, but a Danish Catholic Priest who had been in the castle when the attack began. As such the priest had been busy delivering last rites to both French and Southern Isle soldiers when Remy's group received their orders: join the attack on the last holdout position. Enemy or not the priest had a duty to help the faithful, especially those who likely to die.

A number of Southern Island marines and their King had dug themselves in an outlying tower, a last stand worthy of the history books and poems. But that meant little to Remy or his fellow soldiers. As the foot soldiers in a massive army that was on quest to dominate Europe and guarantee France's security, the books didn't list his or his fellow's names in the books or poems when they died. All they could hope for was to survive the war and return to their loved ones. If not, well, that's what the priest was for. As they mouthed amen after the impromptu mass, they replaced their _shako _and moved to the hallway.

It was a grim approach, as the way to the hold out was littered with both the dead and wounded, this place as good as any for them. A good number where civilian castle staff, some too far forward to be safely recovered. So they laid sprawled out where they had died, caught in the cross fire between a group of Marines coming up from the boat house and the main assault force. Some of the enemy soldiers were there too, not enough room in the final holdout for them, so they tried to hold out here as well. They fell easily enough, though not quickly enough that a few survivors took the dead's muskets before retreating.

Remy remembered thinking that he was to fight Viking giants this morning, but as his company moved through the halls he got a good look at the "Vikings." Most were no older than he, with some not even needing to shave. Still more boys than men, they lay slumped against the marble floor and walls of decadence, dying for a King that likely didn't know their names. Still if the rumor was true, at least this King was decent enough to fight with his men to the last rather than sacrificing them to save himself.

As they approached the forward French positions, Remy could hear the echoing of gunfire as the battle raged on, as the ground occasionally shook from the naval guns offshore. The Danish gladly supplied troops and ships in return for Southern Isle territory, with the hope of being given dominion of the whole country if they served Emperor Napoleon and provided continued military support. As such a few Danish ships sat off shore firing salvos into the castle as well as into a nearby fortress. Survivors of the Battle of Copenhagen, the crews of those ships relished for payback against the hated English. For today though, they'd settle for John Bull's allies.

Remy and his squad leaned against the wall, as an officer looked at a timepiece. The ships offshore where to shell the section of castle for 15 minutes at a time, before ceasing fire for 15 minutes. If they were given the signal, they would stop their barrage completely as the section had been secured. The 15 minutes were almost complete. Remy inhaled deeply, as his heart raced and legs shook from fear. The enemy was just through that door, and he had no wish to die in the last minutes of a very short war.

…

Eric no longer thought of his family. Not his wife's wound, or his daughter's prospects of happiness. He was in a fight, and when in a fight, it's hard to think of anything else. He moved throughout the little bastion, checking on his soldiers. The civilians had thankfully been evacuated, at least the ones that could. The ones who were too big to fit had either taken arms, or provided aid to the wounded. The battering of the offshore ships was fairly inaccurate, but still made everyone hunker down when they did land close.

As such Eric had moved back to the main line of defense when the last barrage landed, causing him to hunker down and wait out the violent shaking, before standing up. He knew what came after the barrage stopped. His men knew too, as they cocked their hammers on their muskets and waited.

On cue, a brave yell was heard from the enemy side of the gauntlet as French soldiers poured down the battered hallway, led by an officer waving a saber. Eric's sword already drawn, he lifted the saber and was about to give the order to fire when he heard a whizzing sound.

Cannon fire.

Eric cursed the French's cold hearted tactic as cannonballs slammed into the hallway, causing a maelstrom of splinters, stone, and shattered glass. Screaming erupted up and down the hallway as both French and Islander soldiers were killed and wounded by the blast. Eric himself felt a sharp pain and then wetness on his face and shoulder, minor but noticeable wounds compared to some of his men. He felt his face, feeling blood dripping down his cheek. For a moment he worried about his ability to grow a beard, before realizing his already sealed fate. He cursed his choice to wait so long to grow a beard, but then again a beard was a minor price to pay for his wife's happiness…

He peered into the smoke and dust as it settled, wondering why the French would try something so cruel and heartless to their own troops. Unknown to him was the knowledge that the French had not intended to shell their own troops. A Danish frigate rushed to fire one last salvo and fired their last barrage 30 seconds too late. Either way it was a catastrophe.

A chunk of ceiling came down and blocked the hallway, ensuring that the French would have to clear rubble under fire to send more troops down the corridor. Even worse was that soldiers were trapped on the other side. All but one laid about the marble floor, wounded from their own naval guns. The one who still stood was slightly wounded as well.

A private, the man stood slightly hunched with bayoneted musket in hand in a defensive stance. Eric looked the man up and down, making an assessment. He was of average height with dark hair and light stubble, which combined with a pronounced overbite and jutting ears made him look like a rat. He had the build of a farm boy, a fairly poor one at that. This one had not eaten enough meat growing up to be incredibly strong. Even without his lack of physical strength, his posture and body language was that of a cornered rat. No desire to fight, only to make the cat go away to survive.

This was their chance. If they attacked now, they could overwhelm the French and overtake the soldiers clearing the rubble. From there, an assault on the primary boat room could lead to a successful breakout. He shouted the command to his men to attack.

Eric had made a mistake, however. He had forgotten a piece of wisdom his parents had once taught him.

There is nothing, _absolutely nothing, _more dangerous to a cat than a cornered rat.

…

September 1st, 1840

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

Kristina was washing her torture implements, while singing softly to herself when Lady Johanna entered the room. The singing abruptly stopped as the maid bowed to the Lady.

"My Lady, my apologies. I had just finished and had no opportunity to tidy up."

The noblewoman raised a hand in dismissal of the offence. "Worry not, Kristina. I believe in getting my hands dirty. If it were not for the Mother-in-law, I would have supervised the… questioning."

"I rather you didn't, Johanna. This is no activity for a Lady."

"I'll be the judge of that. So what did you learn?"

"Well, unfortunately our visitor went and died on us. Very odd. Wasn't bleeding, I know how to cut them to avoid that." She gestured to the various incisions on the man's body, none of which had struck a vein or artery. "I'd say poison, but who knows? However, he did seem quite insistent on telling us he worked for Arendelle."

Johanna raised an eyebrow, as the manner of tone used by Johanna seemed to indicate that a "but" was coming.

"Did he work for Arendelle?"

"No, he did not." Johanna began to pour boiling water over another tool. "He waited a good minute into the torture, before 'confessing' of working for Arendelle. However, I have a sense for the sort of things. The man was not broken yet."

"Go on."

"You see, when you torture a man, you don't start with the big questions. You start with simple unrelated questions. Obvious lies, and obvious truths." She paused, settling the kettle of water back onto a burner before wiping the tool off with cloth. "You do this as to get a baseline for when he's lying or not. Then you get into the little things he doesn't want you to know. His name. His hometown. And you keep going until he breaks."

She set the tool down on the tray, it being the last tool needing cleaning. As such she began to pour water to flush out the bloody floor, she finished her point.

"Point is, this fellow goes from not giving up a surname to letting me know he works for Queen Elsa? No, I don't buy it. Besides, he also couldn't give me details about things an Arendelle spy would know."

"So who do you think he works for?"

"Sadly, the truth is I do not know. This guy was professional enough to keep me from knowing much in our time together. All I can tell you with any certainly is his name is Otto, and whoever hired him wanted us to go after Arendelle and not them."

"Any possible ideas?"

"Well, I know you are suspicious of them, but this guy was not working for Corona."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, he was from Corona. And nobody is stupid enough to hire a fellow countryman that is only able to speak in their native accent. Rapunzel may not be a spymaster, but she has some on her payroll. They wouldn't be so careless."

"So Rapunzel is still in the dark about my intentions?"

"I would safely assume so. As for our friend's employer, I would guess that he's from the Southern Isles. Perhaps your husband has a nosey brother with less than noble intentions. Possibly Weselton, though I see no reason why they would act against us."

"I see." Johanna said curtly as she pondered the ramifications. She knew it wasn't her new father-in-law's man, as she knew who that was already. And espionage did not suit the elder brothers of the Westergard dynasty. Sure there was plenty of rivalry and bickering among the boys, but that was done face to face. While there seemed to be a fistfight every major family gathering, he King _never _tolerated cloak and dagger intrigue within the family. When his older brother Stefan was discovered to be spying on his family and attempting to blackmail one of his triplet brothers, he found himself disowned. This lasted for years, having only recently been given a Barony after prison and exile. Just another reason Johanna found it wise to ally herself with the King with Hans.

"Well, in any case, this one isn't going to be bothering us anymore. It's already a new day." She pointed to the clock that was kept in the chamber, with the short hand almost on the one. "You have a busy day tomorrow, my Lady. You need sleep to stay healthy, you know."

With that Johanna nodded, before turning and leaving the room as Kristina began to take down the corpse. Johanna didn't know what the maid did with the corpse. All she knew is that by morning the room would be spotless and the corpse was nowhere to be found. And as far as she was concerned, the less she knew, the better.

…

Hours later Hans awoke in a fairly indignant mood, which was hardly improved with eating breakfast with his Grandmother. More snide remarks, more putdowns, and the usual treatment his grandmother gave him. The same verbal abuse he had endured for years silently.

But today was different. Perhaps it was his wife's presence. Or maybe he had finally just snapped. But either way the end result was the same.

It was after a review of the manor's guard detail when it happened. It was a routine inspection for a unit of the garrison's army, with a few microscopic details being noticed by Hans and the inspectors, though Hans knew better than to point such things out directly. It was better to address the officer of the Guard and make general observations, as to avoid singling men out to being harshly reprimanded. A scuff on a buckle or slightly imperfect gig line was not worth the resentment from the men.

Ariel too had not stated anything within earshot, but was sure to begin to criticize the troops as soon as they were alone in the manor's main hall. It wasn't just about the men in question though.

"Once again, the army simply doesn't measure up." She said with a shake of the head. "If they were _marines, _they would have had a quarter of the infractions."

It was a loaded statement. When King Frederick was crowned King, the young army officer was sure to champion his long suffering and unrecognized branch of service. It was an unpopular move, as the not only had the Marines been the long the dominant branch, but the Army was regarded as second tier force used only as cannon fodder. But His father couldn't be dissuaded on the matter. Within a month it was white uniformed soldiers guarding the Palace, not the familiar blue jacketed Marines. There was plenty of controversy and teething issues, but in the long run it helped cement Frederick's popularity. The army was the people's branch of service, as compared to the Marine's tendency to recruit from the middle to upper class, with an officer corps almost entirely consisting of noblemen. The army was still hardly prefect, Kurzheim bearing testimony to that. But by far the Army was now an honorable and competent fighting force.

As such, another subtle but unmistakable jab at his father's policies as well as him. Hans had been the only child of Frederick to serve with the Marines, determined to make his own way rather than be put on the fast track of guaranteed promotions that'd have certainly awaited him in the Army. Eager to put down the young man and embarrass the King, the Marines senior brass was sure to constantly make the young officer's life miserable. It wasn't long before his career ended at the pitiful rank of naval Lieutenant, before his father quietly transferred him to the Reserve Army as a liaison officer. While still a naval officer, it ensured that Hans would answer to the King's men and that his career actually stood a chance.

Well, until Hans went and pulled his stunt in Arendelle. Good thing he was a Lord now, as his Military Career was beyond ended. However, Ariel's remark could also be seen as a jab at him and his inability to make it in the "elite" Marines. Which everybody, including his fellow Marine and Naval officers knew was due to political bullshit, not Hans' lack of ability.

Having had both his father and himself insulted in one jab caused the normally passive Hans to do something he had never done since he was a child: talk back.

"Yes, because the Marines did a _fine _job defending the palace in '09…"

Ariel was momentarily stunned by actually being challenged, but immediately changed her tone to counter the young man's surprising backbone.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me grandmother. I'm sure the French were mightily impressed by the prefect uniforms of the men they slew or captured."

Johanna back away from the soon to explode powder keg, but still watching intently as she wanted to see how this went down. The Queen Dowager's tone and expression grew angry and irrational, as Hans kept a calm and thoughtful expression. Johanna chuckled at the thought.

_Say what you will about cold blooded bastards, they make great debaters…_

"I will not hear criticism from you on an event that you were not even alive to witness!"

"Well, normally I would concur. Except as you pointed out, I'm my father's son. As such I merely share his opinion on the matter."

"Your father was barely there! He merely swooped in and played hero, regardless of the cost! Eric was the _real _hero of the day!"

_Sure, my father was barely there. I'm sure the bullet wound in his back shoulder says otherwise…_

"Yes, the man who ordered his men to fight to death in a petty attempt to deny Napoleon a few troops and in the process got a large number of civilians killed, was the _real _hero of the day!"

The Queen Dowager was furious at this point, all the while Hans remained incredibly calm for one in an argument. Johanna had to refrain from smiling at the display, as this was an incredible display of rational thinking verses charged emotion. Kristina had joined the Lady, as had a number of castle staff had begun to spectate the event. Kristina smirked at the knowledge that this was her doing, the same way an instigator enjoys seeing to men come to blows over a comment they had dropped.

"How dare you speak ill of Eric! He was-"

"A good but flawed man? A man who's commitment to conscious led to his inability to face political reality and doomed his country to invasion? If we was so damned perfect, why-"

At that moment the Queen Dowager attempted to slap Hans, only for Hans to grab her wrist. Squeezing tightly Hans stared his grandmother in the eye, finally showing any anger.

"Let go of my wrist, _boy_!"

"No."

"You listen-"Before she could even start however, Hans cut her off with a slow, but clearly angry response.

"No, _you _listen. I don't care what you think of me or my father. And I honestly don't care what you say of me, either. But you will _never _lay a hand on me or mine again. Not me, not my wife, nor any children I bear. Am I understood?"

Her deep glare and silence gave Hans the confirmation he needed. Knowing her, she would have declared her intent to continue whatever she damn well pleased had she not been intimidated. And she was too damn proud to answer to Hans. As such Hans threw down the offending arm, before turning and leaving. As he left, he made a demand without as much as bothering to turn and face her.

"I'd get some rest grandmother, you'll be leaving Kurzheim tomorrow."

Being ordered to leave almost a week earlier than intended did not sit well with the Queen Dowager. She was not a woman who was used to being told no, let alone ordered.

"I am the Queen Dowager! And who are YOU to command me?!" She screamed at her grandson, fists balled and eyes glowing with rage.

Hans turned about, spreading his arms wide as he proclaimed with an odd mixture of sarcasm and pride with a grin.

"I'm Lord Hans, of Kurzheim! And this is _my _Island!" He turned about again as he exited the main hall, leaving the Queen Dowager to her devices. He had work to do.

To prove the young Lord's words true, two guards and two maid approached the Queen Dowager, politely insisting they escort her to her room to help pack her bags. The former Queen bit her tongue and accepted defeat, as she wondered how Hans had built up the Loyalty of his staff and soldiers in such a short time. She knew one thing for sure though.

This wasn't over. Not yet.

…

Bit of notes.

Well, at least his one didn't take 3 months, am I right? This is the second chapter of a three-parter, so next chapter will be the last of the flashbacks regarding 1809 and Queen Ariel. While I enjoy writing the Napoleonic flashbacks, it will be nice to get back to Hans' scheming and diabolical plans to rebuild his dream of being King.

As for this chapter, this might be the darkest thing I have ever written. However I felt it was necessary to establish the sheer hatred Ariel has for Hans' father and brothers. After all, it'd take an ungodly traumatic event to turn her into someone so cruel to her own flesh and blood. Ariel might not know it, but she might share more of her Aunt Ursula's personality than she'd like to admit. How far she will go, has yet to be seen.

Here's hoping Chapter 9 gets here quicker than this one. Keep reading, and keep reviewing.

-Dragunov


	9. Chapter 9- Cracks

May 10th, 1809

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles

Eric stood in wonder as yet another one of his men went down to the ferocious French soldier he had derisively mocked a minute ago. He still looked the part of the rat, but was yet different. Before he was the little mouse, helpless before the cat or boot. Now he was the large rat, with large sharp teeth and a vicious and feral demeanor. Especially so now that he was covered with the blood of several men.

He cursed the lack of ammunition as the obvious solution would to be to shoot the man. Now however they were only a handful of shots between them all, and they would need those to overcome the Frenchmen on the other side. And yet his men stood petrified of only one man, a hardly imposing one at that.

He looked at them, and noticed how they stood in terror, shaking and trembling and hoping they would not be the next to fight the vicious little rat. He could not ask these men to go forward again, not until he entered the fray.

He readied his saber before pushing past his terrified men, who all took a breath of relief as they didn't have to fight the French rat any more. Eric himself was still confident in his own heroism, as such not fearing the young French soldier in front of him. He drew close, pausing for a moment as he tightened his grip on his sword as well as taking a breath.

With a burst he put to use the decades of sword and fencing training he had under his belt. While he had never killed a human being, he still was leagues beyond many of his men in the fencing department. As such the young soldier's frantic blocking attempts and counter-strikes were too easy to dispel. To his credit though, he could see why the Frenchman had dispatched so many of his countrymen. What he lacked in skill he made up for in vicious tenacity and adrenal energy.

But energy will carry only so far. After a desperate jab, Eric got an opening and brought the sword down on his enemy's left arm. As he recoiled in pain he left his left leg exposed, leading Eric to slash it as well. Remy collapsed to one knee, dropping his musket and clutching his nearly severed arm in anguish. Eric moved in, ready for the killing blow.

But while fencing prepares one excellently by teaching one all the skill he needs with a rapier, it does not prepare one for the hardest part of all- the taking of life. Eric stood into the young man's eyes, seeing just how desperate they were to live. Covered in wounds and appearing quite helpless, Eric couldn't quite bring himself to finish him off. No, he'd spare this one. That was the heroic thing to do.

But just as he was to motion his men forward, one of the wounded Frenchmen latched onto his leg and savagely sank his teeth into it, drawing blood. It was Emile, the brother of the man he was currently fighting. Had he known that the two were brothers, let alone their names, he might have admired such willingness to save his brother in hindsight. But as he had incisor-like teeth tearing into his leg, he could only scream in agony before instinctively attempting to kick him off. As he attempted to do so he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to the "helpless" soldier who now clutched his detached bayonet in one hand.

Eric was off balance and unable to realistically bring the sword to bear onto the young man before him, and was only capable of staring him in the eye, mentally begging for life as he had been willing to give moments prior.

"Please…"

But Remy was a cornered rat. And rats don't do the heroic thing.

…

The Sappers swung axes and picks as the infantry helped by moving dislodged rubble. The hallway collapsed mere minutes earlier, trapping their countrymen on the other side. They moved as fast as they could, but they knew that in all seriousness, those on the other side were already dead.

As such a few of the Frenchmen readied their muskets bracing as the last large piece of debris was moved. As it was roughly ripped out, a massive storm of dust and particles fell on them blinding them. A few cursed as now any enemy counterattack would now have the advantage.

Surprisingly though there was no frantic shouts in Danish or enemy soldiers pushing through the hole. As the dust settled, the French soldiers could not believe their eyes.

A lone French soldier knelt among a number of dead Islanders, grasping what appeared to be an impaled enemy officer, his hand still clutching the bayonet that did the deed. He sustained a number of injuries and looked liable to fall over at any second and likely would if he did not have the corpse holding him up. With both the blood of his enemies and his own covering him, it seemed as if the man was moments away from death as he gasped for air due to exhaustion and wounds.

Yet two Southern Isle Marines, likely out of ammunition stood terrified of the near-death Frenchman as if he was a demon. The officer in command judged their expressions and made the call to take them prisoner. He shouted in their native tongue to surrender, causing them to jump and throw their weapons down.

As he led his men into the breach and then directed them forward, he sidestepped out of the way as they conducted mop-up and took prisoners. He knelt besides the young soldier, placing a hand on his shoulder as he looked at the body he was grasping.

It was the enemy king.

"_Mon Dieu!"_

…

June 2nd, 1809

Kesselburg docks, the Southern Isles

Remy winced as they changed the bandages on his wound, attempting to not hiss as the still incredibly sore wound was grabbed as they took the bandage off. It was painful, but Remy was thankful. It had turned out that their commanding officer was the son of a high ranking staff officer in Paris. As he was wounded in the final charge, it was Remy's determined defense that saved his life. As such the young man found himself and his brother (who he insisted be cared for as well) treated by a personal surgeon and both would soon be decorated and promoted.

Neither's wound's had really recovered, which suited both just fine. Their Battalion had set sail two days ago, to sail down the Rhine and link up with the Grande Armée for a push into Austria. Honestly both brothers just wanted to go home to their farm and live in peace. But both suspected that as soon as they were fit they'd ship off for a distant battlefield to secure France's borders.

The new bandage was just being put on when an Officer with more rank and medals than he had ever seen walked into the tent, causing every man inside to leap to their feet. He was a large portly man, yet possessing a kind, joyful face. He immediately ordered at ease, before introducing himself.

"My name is General Auguste Gusteau, Quartermaster General of the Home Army." He began, before grasping Remy's shoulders. "And you, you are the wonderful man who saved my son's life!"

He stepped back clasping his hands.

"Thankfully he has now gotten his determination to see battle out of the way and has finally taken a desk job. That he's made it back to Paris in one piece makes me eternally grateful. Now, I may not be as powerful as Napoleon, but I can always make a recommendation or two."

"That would certainly be appreciated, sir."

"Where do you boys want to go? The Imperial Guard? Perhaps officer commissions, raise you from the ranks?"

"To be honest sir, me and my brother just want to go home."

The General's face changed, as he faced a whole new situation. His brow slumped for a minute, before his whole face lit up with an idea.

"I cannot get you discharged, but if I remember, you live in a village close to Paris, correct?"

"Yes Sir."

"Well, I need a new cook at headquarters, as well as an assistant. It isn't easy work, but it'll keep you out of the fighting and close enough that I'm sure periodic passes home can be made."

Remy looked at the general in confusion, before adding. "Sir, I'm not an experienced cook. I have no training!"

The General smiled. "Don't worry soldier. As I have always said, anyone can cook!"

…

July 5th, 1809

Grimstad, Arendelle

Ariel had dreaded this moment since she had to flee into exile, even more so since she was now alone. Melody had gone off with Frederick when he childishly ran off to fight in the war against Napoleon. While she hated the French Imperialists, she had felt the pain of being a widow and begged him to stay for Melody's sake. But he was an insecure man that had to "prove" his worth.

And so Ariel was on the bed having just gone into labor, with only strangers. The midwives did their best to comfort her through the last few hours, but Ariel wanted her daughter and husband. Especially regarding the circumstances.

The first days after the Battle of Kesselburg where the longest of Ariel's life, as she was terrified of having lost her unborn child. So when the doctor finally heard a heartbeat, a crushing weight had been lifted, but not dispelled. A phantom lingered over the rest of the pregnancy, as the doctor did not know if the baby would survive delivery as he was unaware of the extent of the injuries sustained.

The fact that she could even get a doctor and midwives was a miracle in of itself. Arendelle itself was technically neutral, but was known to be somewhat under France's control as the King's son, Prince Agdar was being held hostage by the French to ensure that Arendelle would stay out of the war. So if the King found out she was here, she would be turned over to the French and made a hostage or a puppet.

However the Baron of Grimstad was a decent fellow with a decent amount of pull and was generally free to do as he wished in his Barony. That and he adored his two daughters, Idun and Primrose. Both had begged their father to intervene when they found that Ariel was in need of their assistance. For that she was forever grateful.

As she experienced her third contraction in a ten minute period, she knew from her experience with Melody that the active phase of pregnancy had begun.

…

Hours later she delivered the final push, exhausted from the painful process of labor. As it had with Melody the delivery was one of the most consuming processes she had ever experienced. Every bit of her being was being poured into the process of bringing this child into the world. The pain involved was terrible, but yet different as she knew that it was all towards bringing a new life into the world. However there was an underlining fear. She was terrified of anything happening to the child due to the wound she received at Kesselburg.

So when she finally made the final push and felt the baby come out, only to be greeted with silence, it was crushing. Ariel felt like her heart stopped as she held her breath and listened and hoped to hear the cry of a healthy baby. It was only less than a minute, but to a mother it might as well have been a year.

Finally she heard a faint crying as the midwives smiled and began to prepare the baby to be wrapped up and delivered to the mother. After cutting the umbilical cord and wiping off most of blood and other fluids, they wrapped up the baby and handed it over to the Queen.

"Congratulations, your Highness. It is a girl."

Ariel looked at the newborn, falling in love with her instantly. Yet she continued to cry as she inspected her little girl, instead of being comforted by her mother's embrace. Something was _wrong_. From the waist up she was a normal baby girl, of healthy weight with a little tuft of rust brown hair on her scalp. However it was the start of her legs that broke her heart. Both legs were mangled as shards of the musket ball that hit her broke the infant's legs and due to the lead in the ball cause stunted growth. Ariel was not a doctor, but she doubted that the baby would ever walk.

But she still loved her unconditionally, as she should as a mother. She rocked the newborn and gradually, the baby girl finally stopped crying and fussing, and fell asleep. A midwife approached as the others prepare to receive and dispose of the afterbirth.

"Your Highness, If I may be so bold, what do you intend to name the child?"

Without hesitation, Ariel answered. "Erika. Her name is Erika."

…

September 2nd, 1840

Forladtnr docks, Kurzheim, the Southern Isles.

Ariel stood on the docks, watching the sailors prepare for the journey home only drove home the defeat she suffered at the hands of her grandson the day prior. By all accounts what happened was impossible, as the necklace should have worked.

She clutched the necklace remembering how she got it, all those years ago. Shortly after Erika was born, Ariel received the news that her father had died and that the Kingdom had gone to Attina. However, the sisters had decided that Triton's trident was too powerful a relic, as usurpers seizing the relic had nearly succeeded twice now in seizing the Kingdom as a whole. As such, the trident was melted down and divided amongst them into new relics of power, each containing a fraction of the trident's power.

Each of the relics had the general powers the trident possessed, however each one contained a specialized power. Ariel's necklace was the Amulet of Queens, and its focus was the powers of the voice. With it one could more easily inspire, command, intimidate, and persuade people. On the whole she used it for good and to rebuild the Southern Isles even after she lost the Crown to Frederick and Melody. However she had also used to intimidate various people she did not care for, including her Son in law and Grandsons. As such she kept a firm grip on them and never feared them doing anything seriously terrible… until now.

Nothing held them back now, as she could no longer passively control the people of the Southern Isles. She fully admitted that the Southern Isles was never perfect, but at least before she was keeping the nobility just and the law fair. Now… she shuddered at the thought that now all the Hans's of the world where now free to do evil uncontrolled.

_The Kingdom would dissolve into chaos without the necklace's power!_

As the porters loaded Ariel's luggage onto the ship a cocky, smiling Hans arrived. Slipping off his horse, he proceeded to slowly walk down the dock with his hands clasped behind his back. Ariel scoffed at the young man's arrogance.

_Clearly he's here to mock and scorn me…_

"Grandmother!" Hans began, with obvious but delightful sarcasm, at least to him. "I of course assume you had a wonderful visit?"

"I have no time or patience for your mockery, Hans." Ariel said in a tired manner with her eyes cast down in defeat.

"But Grandmother, you haven't received my parting gift!"

Ariel turned about as she saw Hans signal some porters to load some crates with the rest of the luggage. To her consternation and anger she saw what was inside. Smoked and Salted _Flounder. _It was fairly common knowledge that Ariel did not enjoy seafood, but it was taboo to present the Queen Dowager with Flounder fish or Crab as her friends as a mermaid included both a crab as well as a fish named Flounder.

Now obviously no-one knew why except her, but it was still a well-known taboo to serve either. Hans knew this taboo even if he didn't remember the no seafood aspect. He was mocking her as best as he could.

She balled her fists in anger and began to approach her tormentor, full of fury. For his part the much more confident Hans stood his ground, no longer terrified of his Grandmother, even though there was a nagging bit of fear conditioned into him after fearing this woman for his entire life. But he ignored the fear. He doubted he'd see her for a long time and was determined to get one last verbal blow in to make up for decades of passive aggressive verbal abuse.

For Ariel there was much higher stakes. Today might be the deliberate insult of Flounder, tomorrow might be something as terrible as Arendelle. It was as if the order she had built was crumbling around her, as if the whole world was crashing down. She tried to think back to the way she had used the necklace in the past, and how it felt to use it, in one desperate attempt to pacify Hans. As she attempted to fall back on a power that no longer existed, Hans decided to rub the salt into the wound before leaving.

"Well, farewell Grandmother. I do hope the flounder is… _agreeable_ with you."

At that moment, something struck Ariel. She unclenched her fists and assumed a calm, terrible expression of apathetic terror.

"Agreeable?" She began before her voiced itself changed to one of terrible beauty and greatness. "Your petty insults do you no favors."

She closed within inches of his face and Hans suddenly found himself on the defense. He did not budge and inch and used every bit of military bearing and discipline to steady himself, but while his physical posture remained unchanged, mentally he was pissing himself as he swore the Queen Dowager's voice become twisted and deep as she continued.

"You worm! Your sad attempts at insult show only how pathetic you and your kin are! I am the Queen Dowager, and you have no power over me!" Sensing her grandson's defeat she turned and quickly boarded the ship. She felt rejuvenated that she was able to use the magic to subdue her grandson, despite a slight nagging feeling in her stomach. Though she channeled her thoughts of the Amulet's powers, when she used the magic itself it felt… different.

As she pondered the meaning of this, a sailor paused as he passed by, before addressing the former Queen. "You Highness, are you feeling well? Your skin, it looks… sickly."

She stood up at once, heading to her personal berth to inspect herself in the mirror. To her shock she found the sailor's words were true. Her skin had turned a very faint shade of lavender. It began to return to normal almost at once, but Ariel was shaken to the core.

She only knew one person with skin like that.

…

September 3rd, 1840

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles

Across the archipelago the weather remained the same, dark and cloudy, as the woman sat in her chair. She had spent most of the morning reading and still held a book in her hands as she paused to look out the window. She sighed at the cloudy weather, knowing that autumn and then winter would follow. It was now getting too cold to swim, which would mean months before the weather would be warm enough again.

She glanced at clock, figuring that it was about time to prepare to see the King. She removed the fur blanket from her legs, once again reminding her why she loved swimming so much. Her legs were mangled, as they had been since birth. Her left foot was barely strong and whole enough to support her body, but her right leg was shattered in the womb and had never grown properly. It was full sized, but it was twisted and bent in a way that it shouldn't, and she couldn't feel anything beneath the knee.

As she prepared to move herself to the bed, the young maid assigned to her knocked and entered. Always desperate to please, the young woman had not spent enough time in the palace to learn that her Mistress preferred to do things on her own.

"Princess Erika, can I be of assistance?"

"No, Margarethe. I'm fine." She strained to say as she lifted herself from the chair. "If I have need of you, I will inform you. You are dismissed." As she began to slip on stockings, she thought about the joys of swimming. It was only natural that despite her state she should still be a good swimmer. It was after all, in her blood.

Like her older sister Melody, she had been informed that she was a mermaid by her mother, the Queen Dowager. However she found that her crippled left foot translated to a crippled fin when transformed. Not that she let it bother her anyways. She was an incredible swimmer in her human form, as the legs that could never run had no problems propelling her through the water.

She finished dressing and clasped her crutches, one of her own inventions. Instead of under armed crutches that dated back to the ancients, she had devised a set of crutches that rested under the upper forearms. They were much more comfortable and less likely to cause loss of feeling in the arm. Using her left leg she pushed herself up onto the weight bearing of the crutches, before setting out. As she approached the door, she called out for the maid.

"Open the door please."

On cue, the maid pulled the door, bowing as a force of habit. Erika smiled, before gesturing her to stand straight.

"Come on Margarethe, we've been over this. If I can't do it, you don't do it."

"My apologies, miss." Erika smiled at the thought that some things were taking hold. She didn't like any of the titles such as highness, grace, or majesty, so she insisted she be addressed as miss. Being fairly critical of the monarchist system, she was not one to place herself above others, especially with her condition.

"Thank you for your assistance this morning. By the way, how is your mother doing?"

"She's doing better, miss. The medicine has been a godsend."

"Well, about that." She produced a slip, with her signature and a note. "Take this to the Royal doctor, and get some more."

"Thank you, miss."

"Think nothing of it. A troubled maid is of no use to me." Erika attempted to pass off her generosity as pragmatism due to modesty, but was self-conscious that she was little good at it. She had a reputation as a generous woman in regards to medicine, dating back to a childhood where she would secretly experiment with her many medicines by testing which ones helped her condition and to which degree they helped. She then kept the bare minimums for herself while passing off the rest to the sick staff members of the palace.

That childish curiosity grew as she got older, and it wasn't long before the Princess began to push for a higher education. It wasn't easy, as even a Princess fell under the universities entry ban against women, at least until her Brother in Law threatened to send in the army. She was less than a year away from being her country's first female doctor, and thanks to her persistence, a handful of others had been permitted to follow in her footsteps.

Her brother in law himself was nonchalant on his assistance. He claimed that a royal doctor of the blood was worth infuriating the universities, even though she suspected that he would do anything to support his family. Even though they were only related by marriage, Frederick had nothing but good will towards her, perhaps due to his own experiences in losing his hand.

She made her way through the halls, and before long Frederick had joined her. He slowed his pace considerably, allowing her to move as she was comfortable with. When both had settled on a pace, he began to talk.

"Glad to see you could make it, Erika."

"We live in the same building, Frederick. So what's causing a ruckus that for some reason none of your other advisors can be trusted?"

"It's not a lack of trust, it's a matter of expertise. The only other man in the palace that's qualified is the Royal Doctor, and he earned his degree in the previous century. _This_, whatever it is, is _new_."

"Please, do go on." She said stoically, containing her excitement. Erika would drop anything to get a good look at a medical breakthrough. This wasn't work. This would be a treat.

"You see, there's been an incident outside of Kurzheim…"

…

Bit of Notes

Well, that's the last of the flashbacks for a while. You may see one or two every once in a while, but it will mostly be present day events revolving around Hans and Company. I enjoyed doing these, but they did have to be longer by nature due to the flashback section and current event section, so hopefully this means quicker update times. Here's hoping next update comes fairly quick.

-Dragunov

Glossary:

_Mon Dieu!- _My God!


	10. Chapter 10- All Glory is Fleeting

September 1st, 1840

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles.

The small boat quietly approached the shore, its captain a little nervous. Despite the fact that he had made this trip dozens of times, the old sailor always was a little edgy right before pickup. The man was a smuggler, who transported all manner of illicit cargo across the Southern Isles. Today though, there was a special cargo he had in mind today. The small ship glided the last short distance, before the small craft beached itself on the soft sand slightly illuminated by the moon-lit sky. As the crew disembarked to secure the ship, the captain hopped over as well, approaching the contact he had been expecting.

She was a woman wearing a cloak, with the hood raised to ensure her face wasn't illuminated, even in the poor light offered by the waxing crescent moon. Not that the Smuggler cared. He had long ago figured that it was best to keep things anonymous and impersonal in this business. He only had one rule in that regard, which was that he always insisted on knowing what his cargo was. Not for any moral reasons, but to ensure that he knew what he was dealing with. Today that would not be necessary, for he already knew the cargo.

"How many do you have for me this time, miss?"

"Just two. Ones an old pensioner who went unclaimed. The other was… well, let's just say he won't be missed."

The Captain wasn't huge on taking a corpse that had likely been burked, so he had an established rule on these sort of things as well.

"You know the rules, miss. I only pay for Natural causes. I'll take those who had… accidents, but only for free."

If this reminder bothered the woman, The Captain did not know. The woman paused before answering.

"That's acceptable. How much for the pensioner?"

"I'll give you 25 Krone."

"Deal." She raised a lantern, shuttering it twice. Within a minute a cart pulled up carrying two foot lockers, with two men up front, obviously armed. Clearly the Body-Snatchers had no intention of becoming "merchandise" themselves. He made a point to check the corpses, before he loaded them on the ship.

The first corpse, the pensioner was in good condition as corpses went. He would have no problem offloading that one. The second, not so much. Someone had taken a knife to him, and it was pretty clear that this one had met an unnatural end. Still, he could still sell him. While most of the corpses were needed for public dissections for students, some were still needed for surgical practice and such.

As such he waved to his men to load the corpses on board. It was only a few hours of sailing to the Duchy Capital, where the medical schools would pay handsomely for the bodies. The waters were not routine patrolled, and even when they were, the smuggler knew ways to avoid getting caught. It was too easy.

…

September 3rd, 1840

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.

"You see, there's been an incident outside of Kurzheim."

Princess Erika raised an eyebrow, curious on what could have happened in remote Kurzheim that gained the attention of King. "Please do go on."

"Early in the morning of the 1st, a Coast Guard cutter discovered the flaming wreckage of a small craft, likely a smuggling vessel. Only one survivor was found in the water, the rest having perished in the fire that claimed the ship. Not an unusual occurrence, except for one thing." He paused, partly to swallow and partly for dramatic emphasis. "The survivor claims that a dead man wrecked the ship."

"Well. I doubt we can trust the reliability of such a source."

"Well, I would hesitate too, except for two things. First, this man was hardly being under suspicion. No illicit goods were found in the wreckage, and yet after receiving a guarantee of immunity, confessed to get the story out. While I am one to honor said agreements, he took a risk to get us this information. There was no alcohol on his breath according to the sailors on the ship that picked him up."

"So he may not have been drunk or attempting to deceive us, that still doesn't change that possibility of hallucination or hysteria."

"Also true. Except for one issue. This is the third report of a dead man of similar description wreaking havoc in the last month. The third. My father once told me 'Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and three times is enemy action.' It may relate to spying, but I find it true when it comes to rumors."

Attempting to hold off on making a judgement until she had all the facts, Erika inquired. "What do you mean by similar description? Is it the same person?"

"No. Similar traits. The usual traits of a dead man, but all reported black blood. Whether in the eyes or visible veins, or the lips or fingernails it all black, including any wounds."

"Okay, assuming we believe this is true, _how _is this possible?"

The King looked honestly troubled. "I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. Didn't that Modern Prometheus book you read have a resurrected corpse in it?"

"You mean Mary Shelly's work? Complete rubbish, even if she _did _explain how Dr. Frankenstein created his monster. Gothic fiction will be of no help here." She hobbled over to a nearby chair, sitting down and starting to run scenarios through her head. Before long, she was thinking out loud. "Okay, thanks to our _colorful _family history, we know magic does exist. But that isn't the one all end all that people think it is."

"It isn't? My wife explained a little but I hardly know anything about the issue. Can't you just go poof and do about anything?"

"No. The issue with bringing the human body back to death lies entirely with the brain. The rest of the body can be preserved and theoretically be surgically replaced. Not so with the Brain. Once it stops getting oxygen, it dies. Period. Magic can't bring that back."

"So how is this possible?"

"Well, magic may not bring a dead person back to life, but it may make a living person come back to life."

Frederick looked at her completely puzzled. "Come again?"

"Think about it. What if someone created a serum that causes momentary death? It'd almost have to require magic to keep the brain alive of course. Or perhaps it is a feign that causes near death, slowing the heartbeat to an extremely slow pace. But why?"

"Well firstly, it'd be a good way to escape capture and torture. But it may not be the only thing said serum does. The reports all say the dead men had incredible strength. So perhaps it's meant to be a human weapon. Send a man in with the expectation of capture, have him inject himself, and when he comes back he can cause an incredible amount of damage."

Erika grew sickened at such a thought. "That's not medicine, that's turning people into weapons!"

"Whoever is behind it all is one cold son of a bitch. Even my boy would be impressed."

"Could it be Hans?" Erika asked, immediately regretting the comment. Despite everything he had done, Erika had loved all her nephews, including him. She had warned Frederick that Hans might have done something drastic months before Arendelle, but the old warhorse could not fathom that his own flesh and blood doing something so terrible. Neither could Erika for that matter.

Frederick thought deeply for a long quiet minute, before answering. "No, I don't think is Hans. I got one of my best agents on him, and he hasn't reported Hans developing a sudden interest in medicine or science. Besides, he isn't stupid. He wouldn't try something this soon, when he's still in the spotlight. Hans will lick his wounds for a while yet. This is somebody, or _something, _else."

…

September 5th, 1840

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.

When the Queen Dowager left, the entire Manor Guard detail sighed a collective sigh of relief that she was gone. Not for any personal reason, but it did entail that a microscope was no longer peering down on them. There was still the young Lord, sure, but he was different. They barely saw him as the manor Guard detail meant surprisingly little time inside the manor. They were quartered in a quickly built shack outside the premises, and they mostly guarded the outside of the manor. Unlike previous Lords and Ladies, the young master didn't waste time playing drill Sergeant. As such they were left alone, and with the exception of their guard shifts were free to do as they pleased. There was no drinking for the week, and daily inspections of kit to ensure cleanliness was carried out, but it wasn't as bad as they all thought it was going to be. Other than the Queen Dowager being asked to leave, nothing of note really happened to the Guard.

As such it came time for the changing of the Guard, and Fritz couldn't be happier. Though like most of the other lads, he liked the new Lord, he was happy to be no longer under the microscope. He and his platoon stood in formation with their kit, waiting for the officers to do the ceremonial changing of the guard. Across from them another platoon stood, equally impatient to get settled in.

The officers did their bit, which included a formal report to the commander of the relief. As such the Officer of the Guard saluted his relief, before going on a minute-long spiel of what had transpired during the week in broad strokes. Naturally this hardly covered everything, which was included in the log. The army liked to be redundant like that.

As the changing of the guard finally concluded and the soldiers began to shuffle off to their camp, a lone rider rode through the decrepit gates, the two officers saluting before he gave an order to them. It took a moment, before Fritz recognized him as the young Lord. As such the young soldier was too awestruck to listen intently to Hans' orders, but this mattered little as Fritz's commanding officer echoed the news as he drew his saber.

"Men, a raiding party has been spotted off shore! Form up and prepare to move out, we will drive the invaders into the sea!

…

The other platoon had been left behind to guard the Manor as Fritz's platoon had made the run to the shore where the invaders had been spotted. Now while the rifle butts of the Sergeants would have proven effective enough to keep men from falling out one the mile and a half run, but every man was too inspired to fall out. For their Lord was with them.

They couldn't help but stare in amazement that a Lord had dismounted and conducted the forced run with the men, leading from the front. Not one of the soldiers had ever seen a senior officer or noble who had lowered themselves to the enlisted's level if they had a choice. Any other noble would have casually watched on horse as the men drilled endlessly. Not this lord.

Fritz was at the front of the group, close enough to get a close look. The young master was as tired as they were, he could tell by the Lord's breathing and sweating. But by god, he tried to hide it. Every time he turned about his expression was energetic and eager, a smile on his face.

So despite all of the kit that dragged his body down, the sight of a lord leading from the front, on foot seemed to lighten the rifle on his shoulder and the pack on his back as they closed the last few hundred yards to the cliff overlooking the landing site.

He felt a chill as he closed the last short distant, as it dawned upon him he was about to be engaged in deadly combat. He had endured a good amount of training, but he knew he was an amateur compared to an experienced raider or mercenary. Still it was _his_ people, _his_ island, and _his_ country that he was defending. And after the young Lord had beaten them to the cliff and drew a revolver, they could hardly just abandon him, could they?

As such Fritz reached the cliff, letting his knees impact first, using the momentum to slam into the earth with his stomach, his feet pivoting up into the air, before letting them drop. While his rate of fire would have been slowed, he was a minimal target. He was ready to fight the invader.

There was one issue though.

There was no invader.

On the beach, Lieutenant Colonel Schwarzkopf sat on a field chair, a timepiece in hand. Upon seeing the Garrison forces arrive, he stood up, taking another look at his pocket watch.

"Less than thirty minutes, My Lord. From Spotting to engagement, less than thirty minutes. I guess I was wrong!"

Hans smiled as he stood, holstering his revolver. "Well, it sure looks that way!" He turned to face the confused soldiers, before he gestured them over. "Gentlemen, as some of you are piecing together, we just have run the Garrison through a mobilization drill. Your Battalion commander was convinced that none of you could engage a threat within 30 minutes of spotting. So confident, that he ordered any unit that reacted within that time was to be treated with a week of leave!"

A hearty cheer was sounded by the platoon, as few things make a soldier happier than a brief stint of not having to soldier. The young Lord grinned at the enthusiasm, before gesturing them to quiet it down. "There is more, soldiers. I added my own bonus. The first unit to engage within 30 minutes will be treated to a dining in at the manor. That, gentlemen, is you! Get some rest men, you need it for tonight!"

As the platoon once again went wild at the concept of good food and beer with pretty maids to look at, Hans himself couldn't help but chuckle. Fritz like the others was swept up with enthusiasm, starting to pump his fist in the air, repeatedly shouting "Lord Hans!" in a chant. Before long, it had caught on across the platoon.

As the chant washed over Hans, a certain satisfaction was felt by the former prince. He had spent his entire life as a Prince, and yet it was only as a lowly Lord that he had seen such a display of loyalty towards him. But he was careful to not let his ego get the better of him.

_I have earned their respect and loyalty. Now I must work harder to keep it._

His mind remembered an anecdote from a history book he read. That during the great roman parades after great victories, despite all the wondrous displays, a slave was always to remind the emperor one thing.

All Glory is fleeting.

Bit of Notes-

Fairly short chapter this time, as I was trying to get this out before too long. Work's been busy, so I haven't really been too motivated to write. For those of you looking forward to the next Aftermath, it's likely going to be a while, as I'm only halfway done with chapter 6. In other news I have started work on a new project, however I'm not going to post it until I am mostly or entirely finished.

Next arc is going to dive into the ceramic industry and the shady nature of early industry, so here's hoping chapter 11 gets here soon.

Deuces,

Dragunov


	11. Chapter 11- Blood, Sweat, and Tears

June 1838

Høst, the Southern Isles

Ivar was forcibly shoved into the room by the trustees, who took extra care to beat the man down to the floor with their clubs, stopping only when he stopped attempting to get up. Thoroughly beaten, Ivar laid on the floor gasping for breath despite cracked ribs. He couldn't lift his head off the floor, and as such had a limited view of the room now. He could however hear voices.

"Sir? Your _guest _is ready to speak to you."

Footsteps entered the room, though Ivar could only see the high quality pair of high boots, well shined as they slowly strode into the room.

"Oh for goodness sakes lads, don't just leave him down there. Sit him up."

As ordered, the men fetched a chair and sat Ivar down roughly, before clearing away. Ivar was still weak however, and his head slumped forward, forcing him to tilt his eyes upward. Getting a better look, he recognized the man as the owner of the mining town, Gregers Sendsen. This was no usual beating, and that chilled Ivar's bones.

"Mister Ivar, I've been informed by my men that you've been fallen heavily into debt. As such they took the precaution of searching your home and found that you intended to skip town on me."

"No Sir!" It was a lie, but Ivar couldn't exactly tell his boss that, now could he? He knew how these places ran. If he bailed out of town, he was effectively stealing from the boss. And that didn't bode well.

"Well Mister Ivar, I happen to believe you. As such I'll give you the benefit of the doubt despite the small amount of evidence against you."

"You will sir? Thank you sir!"

"In fact, I'll do what I can to resolve your debt situation. I need men to work in the chasm."

"The chasm sir? But that's cripples' work-"a horrible realization struck the man, but before he could even scream one of the men swung a sledge into Ivar's knee cap, shattering it. He shrieked as he fell over onto the ground writhing in pain. Sendsen the casually strolled up, before kneeling down.

"Don't worry lad, you'll be able to walk again… _someday_. In the meantime I'm sure you'll be able to pay off the money you owe me. And I'd wouldn't try to leave town. I _hate _having to unleash my hounds."

With a warm smile Sendsen stood up before turning to leave the room. As he strolled out again, he passed his horrified 21 year old son. Turning to pat his shoulder, maintaining his joyful expression.

"See there Fess? _That's_ how you handle employees."

….

September 25th, 1840

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

It had been a surprisingly quiet 3 weeks for the people of the Island. Hans had begun construction on the Ceramics factory, the first facility being opened the following Monday, the 28th. The simple brick and wooden building had been constructed in a rush, to the point that Hans had paid for firewood to burn at night. The large bonfires had supplemented the much more expensive whale oil and allowed workers to work around the clock in shifts. To justify the rush job, the equipment needed to produce the ceramics already had arrived and was being installed even now.

In short, the long awaited ceramic plant was finally here. To celebrate, Lady Johanna had taken the advice of her Grandmother-in-law and arranged a Court gathering. To celebrate the opening of the factory, a diner party was being held. Invites had been sent to everyone who was anyone on Kurzheim. As such with the Party tomorrow, all staff was working overtime.

Kristina was cleaning the north wing's upstairs, her head full of thoughts. Her body snatcher had disappeared, which cut her off from one of her sources of extra income. More alarming was the loss of an easy body disposal services. A number of other things had also troubled her. Johanna was under a lot of stress due to planning for the party, in addition October was coming. Franz had left for Corona October 1st, and Johanna had learned of his death on October 31st. So the entire month was painful for the Lady, with the end of September and beginning of November bringing little joy.

So as Kristina cleaned the mirror standing outside the door and saw the door to the Lady's chamber open revealing the love of her life, she naturally smiled and did a little curtsey.

"Good Morning, M'lady."

Johanna gave her a look of sorrow and fatigue, before feebly responding. "Good Morning to you as well."

"What's wrong, love?"

"Well, October's coming and, well, _you know._"

"Franz. I miss him too, My Lady." Her words were genuine too. While she deeply loved the Lady Johanna, she also fully realized that Johanna didn't have true love for her. Friendship, yes. Sexual attraction, that too. But not true love. But that didn't matter. To Kristina, her love meant a desire to see Johanna happy. And if that happiness was with someone else, she had no problem standing aside. As she had done for Franz.

"Well, time to go to work." She took a quick glance in the freshly cleaned mirror, seeing her pale and sad self in the mirror. She shook her head, simply muttering a quick "Dreadful" before departing to inspect the dinner preparations. As Johanna left, an idea struck Kristina.

_If only the lady could see herself the way I do…_

She glanced at the mirror, before a solution came to mind. She took a deep breath, before closing her eyes and conjuring up a new enchantment. She waved her hand in front of the mirror, before opening her eyes. As expected her enchantment had taken effect, causing the mirror to reflect the person in front of it as Kristina saw them. As for herself, she saw a meek and non-imposing woman, unimportant.

_I should really work on my self-image. Well, off to clean the abattoir._

She turned and began walking without thinking, suddenly colliding with the one person she didn't want to have seen her 'practicing'.

Lord Hans.

She froze, her mouth agape as she was petrified with terror. Short of her Ladyship finding out and rejecting her, she couldn't think of a worse person to be discovered by. Considering the last sorceress he met was nearly murdered by him.

"My Lord?" She breathed out, barely able to overcome her fear.

"Ah Kristina, just the woman I was looking for." Kristina attempted to read her Lord's expression for any trace of surprise or anger at her sorcery. However just like the rumors said, Hans was a very hard man to read.

"I have a question."

"Yes?"

"The night the Queen Dowager visited, I happened to notice that you happened to clean the Queen Dowager's necklace. You didn't do anything… extraordinary to it, did you?"

"Extraordinary? That doesn't sound like me at all, my lord. If I were extraordinary, I would certainly would've found a better job than a maid!"

"Of course. Well, carry on."

Kristina held off on sighing heavily in relief, heading towards the stare case. Her heart still pounding as her hand grasped the rail, she froze when she heard Hans' voice again.

"Kristina?"

She didn't even turn about to face Hans, fearful that her fear might give her away now.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"This mirror is… off. Might want to replace it."

"Of course, my lord." She strolled away, sweating bullets. She dared not look back, as it would arouse even more attention. At this point all she could do is pray, pray that Hans was still in the dark about her powers. Either way, Kristina felt that by the end of the day she'd know if her secret was safe or not.

…

Hans sat in the Manor's courtyard, enjoying his late breakfast as was his custom. Hans had a habit of waking early and ensuring his staff and workers were up and working as early as possible, stopping to eat only well into the work day. While he was prone to eat sandwiches as an early breakfast, it was only now that he ate 'the most important meal of the day.'

Even then, Hans was never too busy to talk business. So when Hans saw Rolf walk through the small gateway into the courtyard clutching his cap, Hans gestured him over. The odd Groundskeeper limped over fairly quickly, clearly possessing an injury. But if it bothered the older man much, he didn't say.

"You are back early, Rolf. Will my factory be completed on schedule?"

"Yes my Lord. In fact we just finished. I came to ask if his lordship has another task he wishes complete before I dismiss the lads for the day."

Hans stood up, smiling while patting the man on the shoulder. "No need, Rolf, Let the men go home for the day." A relative unknown, Rolf had taken the manor by storm ever since he had become the head Groundskeeper. Hans had taken a chance, and was pleased to see that it was working out in his favor.

Just looking around the manor grounds was a testament to his work, as well as Lady Johanna's admittedly good gardening skills. When he had stepped foot onto Kurzheim two months ago, the manor grounds was in shambles. Now the buildings were certainly still old, they were in good repair now. Several areas had been refurbished to be modernized, something that much of the castle desperately needed. Rolf was certainly keeping his job.

"Thank you my lord. I will let the men know straight away."

As Rolf turned and left, Hans noted the familiar sight of Wagner approaching into the manor grounds. Catching sight of his boss, he wasted no time to briskly move over and report. The two were past petty trivialities such as greetings or small talk.

"My Lord, I have the information you wanted."

"Carry on."

"Firstly, I found the men you wanted. Forty good, hard men. Some are locals, some are going to have to be brought in. All are good and loyal to your family, and in case we need it, are less than… _sympathetic_ towards sorcery. With good pay and decent treatment these men could be the loyal private army you wanted."

The old mercenary paused, pulling a pair of packets out of his jacket pocket.

"Secondly, I have been collecting information on Sendsen, which was not a difficult task at all. The man has left a trail of pain and suffering a mile wide behind. How this man has not been killed by former employees is _astounding_. I have the full report here on both Sendsen and the men here."

"Thank you, Wagner. Excellent work as always."

"That's not all sir. I've been putting feelers out, and they report to me that a man has… disappeared."

"On Kurzheim?" Hans was actually surprised by the development, as people didn't really go missing here. The island was too small for it. No point on the island was more than 5 miles from the ocean, and little of it was wooded, and that was sparsely at that. No predators that could kill a man either.

"Yes, a traveler that came into town. One 'Otto' from Corona it seems. Gave his business as 'laborer', but my fellows say he look more a soldier of fortune. Now he's missing."

"I see. Keep an eye out for him, in case he's snooping around where he shouldn't be. But I don't think he is. I have a feeling our _good friend_ Mister Sendsen is responsible. If you can get dirt on Sendsen, get it."

"Yes my Lord."

"As for I, I think I shall send a messenger to visit our Industrialist colleague. Extend the good news. He may be trouble, but one mustn't forget manners. As for myself, I have a party to plan."

…

September 26th, 1840

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

Fess Sendsen adjusted his tie for the ninth time that evening, before taking another sip from his wine glass. All around him the party was flowing on without him, as he expected. Fess was never one for these events, and would have stayed home if it was his choice. But it wasn't his choice.

Fess was 23 years old, the same age as the Lord Hans. However, unlike the former Prince, Fess was not nobility. As such saving himself for political marriage was not expected of him. As the only son of an industrialist, he was expected to produce heirs for the continuation of the company, though. His father was more than adamant on that line. But Fess wasn't an outgoing guy in that regard. Whenever he was at one of these social functions, he quickly found a corner to hide in and watch the clock until it was time to leave.

Fess was practicing that strategy right now when he saw his father lumber into view. Overweight but not grossly so, with a well-groomed beard and haircut, both had long since gone grey. His suit itself was also prim and proper, attempting to look every bit the gentlemen. He dare not say it aloud, but he knew that to be a farce. He had heard the story of how the Sendsen mining company came to be.

"Fess!" His father lumbered over, before grasping his son's shoulder. "You know why we're here, son. Every girl here is the daughter of _somebody, _boy. Pick one!"

Fess cast his eyes down, before mumbling in protest. "Father, they're noblewomen. We're industrialists. They wouldn't give us the time of day!"

The elder Sendsen paused, not one to dismiss a valid point before countering. "If they reject you, then fuck them! Find a nice maid, let's see them turn their noses up at us when you are married and expecting, and those noble bastards are still dirt poor!" His father proceeded to take another draft from his flask, one Fess hardly thought was his first. "In all seriousness boy. You and I are better than every one of those 'nobles'. We know cold, hunger, and disease. They never worked a day in their lives."

Gregers stopped himself, realizing he was about to gone on another tirade of his loathing of the nobility, before getting back to his main message. "Son, it doesn't matter who. Just find a girl!"

…

Hans stood, watching the party unfold smoothly as planned. Having done a meet and greet with all the guests, he was enjoying his favorite part- spying. Hans had a deaf maid teach him lip reading at an earlier age, and found it quite useful at eavesdropping from a safe distance. Even now he watched the elder and younger Sendsens have a lively discussion.

_Fess is shy around girls, yet is under pressure to marry? I'm pretty sure I can find a loyal maid willing to 'fall' for charming young Master Sendsen…_

He turned his attention elsewhere, spotting a few of the garrison officers mingle. Though it looked less than friendly towards one officer. Hans recognized the man as Lieutenant Feingold, a newly arrived officer brought in to replace a corrupt officer. Unlike most here, Feingold had an excellent record, and only wound up on Kurzheim for one reason.

He was a Jew.

Hans shook his head at the blatant Anti-Semitism prevalent in his homeland, at times wishing for them to follow the example of the Danes. Still, if the idiotic prejudices of his people was sure to give him a steady supply of competent Jewish officers, it only benefitted him. He would be sure to write a letter to his father expressing his views and his willingness to take on more Jewish officers with good records. He made a mental note to have a 'chat' with the belligerent officers. He would not tolerate infighting amongst his officers.

He returned to scanning, when he heard a faint sob. His curiosity, he moved from his 'perch' in the manor's great hall over to a hallway, where he heard the sobbing coming from. Before long he found a young maid sitting against the wall crying gently into her hands. Likely no older than ten years of age, she was likely an orphan adopted by the Manorial staff to work as a maid. Hans was aware of the small orphanage maintained on the manor ground to give young boys and girls occupations and a 'good' home. As Kurzheim lacked a proper orphanage or even public schooling, it really was their best bet in life.

He knelt down, before addressing the girl. "What's the matter?"

The young girl took her hands out of her hands, her eyes wide in terror when she recognized the man in front of her. She knew full well that she was supposed to be working, and being caught by the master of the house was no good indeed. "M-my apologies my Lord, I'll return to work right away!"

Hans raised his hand in protest, before asking again. "Relax, I'm not angry at you. Now what's wrong?"

"Nothing a Lord wishes to hear about…" the young girl sniffed.

"Well that's not true at all. Any man who doesn't wish to hear the concerns of the people who live under the same roof he does is a fool. Now, what's the matter?"

"Some of the older girls, like to tease and hit me. They poured ice down my neck, and called me useless."

Hans twitched his eyebrow, as more than a few unpleasant childhood memories involving older brothers came to mind. He thought a moment, before an idea came to mind. "Firstly, what's your name?"

"Else, my Lord. I'm 9 years old."

_Else, huh? That's a humorous coincidence._

"Well, Else. Are you useless?"

Else cast her eyes down once again, as she honestly had little esteem for herself. "I don't know… I don't seem to do much right…"

Hans visibly shook his head in disapproval. "Well, that simply will not do. Want to know a secret?"

"My Lord?"

Hans lifted his jacket sleeve, revealing a branding scar. "When I was only 12, some of my brothers thought it would be funny to stick me with a hot iron. Want to know what I did about it?"

"What?"

"I cried at first. Cursed my life, about how _unfair_ it was. It didn't make my problems go away. I was still bullied, and my life was still hell. One day, though, I took that same iron and walked over to the brother that did it. Want to know what I did then?"

"…what?" the young girl asked, wondering how this was going to turn into a motivational and heartwarming story.

"I beat his teeth in. After that the worst of it stopped, and my life got better. There's nothing wrong with crying Else. But it won't improve your life. Work harder than those older girls, and get payback in whatever way you can. They can't call you names when their nose is bloody, can they? Nor can they call you useless when you are the best maid in the house, can they?"

"I guess not…"

"Greatness is never given, Else. It is earned through blood, sweat and tears. Now you can sit here and cry, or you can get up, and prove them wrong. It's your choice."

Else wiped her tears away, before donning a face of determination. She was tired of being bullied. The Lord Hans was right. If was to get anything from life, she'd have to take it. She stood up, before returning to her duties, her head beginning to dream up ways to get revenge.

As Hans saw a rebirth in the girl's resolve, he let a warm smile spread across his face. This was strange. Hans had given many fake smiles over the years, after all he was the mirror. He had also given a number of evil grins and smirks as well. When he was about to kill Queen Elsa, and therefore _win _came to mind. But this was different. No plot filled his head, no agenda was being accomplished. The mirror had seen its own reflection for a change, in a young child angry at the world. Hans therefore was compelled to help, and by doing so felt good about it.

He was so engrossed in helping the young maid that he was completely unaware of the spectator of it all. Still suspicious of her lawfully wedded husband, Johanna had quietly followed the former prince, before watching the whole thing from a distance. She was genuinely shocked by it all.

Hans had just displayed kindness. His perverse version of it, sure, but no less sincere. No scheme could be had in securing the happiness of a little orphan maid, especially with as truthful of a confession as he just gave. In doing what he did, he just displayed the first real act of humanity Johanna had ever seen from him. Hans it seemed, could actually care for another human being and want to see them succeed, not as a tool, but as a person.

She smiled before she whispered to herself. "Perhaps, Lord Hans of Kurzheim could become a decent husband and human being. Just perhaps."

She decided to let Hans be, before turning her attention back to the party. Soon the event would end, and the guests would need to be sent off. She was eager to get the guests out, as she and Kristina had… _plans_ for tonight.

…

Kristina laid in bed with Johanna, on the verge of deep sleep. She really meant to get up and return to her room, but after the last several days of working around the clock, she felt too lethargic to get up, and instead drifted off into a familiar dream.

_It was dark and cloudy that morning, she remembered. She remembered because the adults mentioned it multiple times throughout the day, and her mother made her wear a wool coat over her new maid uniform. Yet as always, it was bright in the dream world._

_Kristina had just moved to Kurzheim from her home on the Island of Kesselburg. Mother said it was for work, but she knew the real reason why. She had powers, and things were starting to happen to people. Some good, some bad. Kristina was getting a hold of them, but it was too late. Suspicion was gathering on her and her mother. So they left. She was 11._

_Food prices were higher on Kurzheim, so her mother soon had her enrolled into the workforce earlier than expected. Her mother was a good friend and servant to the Lady of the Island, and so landed Kristina a job as a maid._

_Today was her first day._

"_Hurry up Kristina. We need to get there before it starts raining."_

"_Yes Mama."_

_It was a quick pace, but they reached the old manor just as the first rain drops began to fall. The uniformed guards hassled them as they entered, calling them names that Kristina would not learn the meaning of until later. If her stoic mother was affected, she didn't show it. Soon they were inside, and before the Lady of Kurzheim._

_She was an older woman, prim and proper and standing as upright as flagpole. Her clothes were old fashioned but certainly regal, though her lack of decent perfume was noticeable. Her hair was grey but well groomed, the opposite of her mother's messy blonde hair. She smiled a cold smile when looking at Kristina, not out of any malice, but simply due to being a cold but well-meaning person._

"_Ah, so this is Kristina. I must say she is a lovely young girl. She really is remarkable, Anna."_

"_Thank you, my Lady. Do you have any further questions about Kristina's… gifts?"_

"_Mama, I thought we were to not supposed to discuss that with anyone?"_

_Before her mother could scold her, the Lady herself interjected. "It's quite alright, child. Your mother in her short time here has already proven her dedicated loyalty. As such, I have trust in her, and she has trust in me."_

"_Thank you my Lady. But nobody else does, Kristina. So we must tell no one. Am I understood, little one?"_

"_Yes Mama."_

"_My lady, anything else you wish to know?"_

"_That'll be all Anna. You may assume your duties"_

"_Yes my Lady."_

_And with that, her mother bowed, turning and leaving her alone with the old woman. Sensing her anxiety, the Lady of the House sought to comfort her._

"_Come child. I will show you to your duties."_

_The two began to make their through the castle, before long passing a painting of an older, handsome man. Based on the location and furnishing, she surmised it was a painting of the Lord. The Lady of the house showed little love for it though._

"_That is my husband child. You are still too young for his tastes, but be warned. Do not feel pressured into doing anything with that… man. If he attempts anything you let me know, and I will put a stop to it right away."_

_Before long they had entered the upstairs north wing, with the Lady opening a door opposite a mirror. As she entered, Kristina was surprised to see a young girl, similar to her in age. At first glance, it was as if someone had created a younger, smaller version of the Lady. Prim grooming, upright posture, and regal. However there was a spark of energy, a certain warmness that the Lady lacked._

"_Kristina, this is Johanna. You will act as her lady in waiting. Did your mother tell you what that means?"_

"_No, my Lady." She said sheeply, shamed that she already didn't know something expected of her._

"_No matter, I will. A Lady in waiting is the personal attendant to a noblewoman. She attends to all the needs of the noblewoman. This means advice, moral support and when she needs it, criticism. Ideally you will be close friends, despite your difference of class."_

"_Friends, Mother? But you always said…"_

"_Hush Johanna!" It was the first bit of anger Kristina had seen from the Lady Kurzheim, but the ease it was summoned told Kristina that it was likely often used. "Yes, I said that as nobles we should stand above the people. I meant that we should be examples to the common people. As such I declined the offers of using the daughters of the local Knights, and instead offered it to Kristina here. I do this as a reminder that there is a world of people out there. And our decisions affect them."_

"_Yes, mother." A simple glare was extended by the Lady, prompting Johanna to do what was next. "My apologies, Miss Annasdatter."_

"_No harm, my lady."_

"_Now that that's settled, I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Without much further ado, the Lady left the two to an awkward silence, before Johanna broke it._

"_So… a friend. I don't think I really had one of those before. Perhaps mother is right." With that Johanna broke into a toothy smile. Unlike the frozen smiles of the Lady of the house, these possessed a real warmth. It was at that moment that Kristina felt an odd feeling. A feeling she had never had before, until now. A feeling that the girl standing across from her was something… special._

Kristina woke up the same way she had fallen asleep, naked in her Lady's arms. As she lifted her head, her long blonde slid up with it, as she let her eyes adjust to the dark. When she could see well enough, she carefully slipped from the bed as to not awaken her lover. There was little chance though, as the Lady Johanna was a _very _deep sleeper. She gathered her clothing, before slipping into a spare nightgown that was left for occasions like this. She took another look at her beloved, who even in the dark still seemed to glow.

She opened the door, closing it carefully to avoid slamming the door and waking her beloved. She couldn't help but smile, as she was still on a post-coitus high. It would take something terrible to bring her down to earth.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

Her heart froze, her body trembling so much so that she had to move her hand away from the doorknob so it wouldn't rattle. She turned about, to face the source of the slow clap.

Lord Hans.

"Oh Kristina, this does explain _a lot, _now doesn't it?"

"How did-"

"How did I get in? Well, when I ran into you the other day, I took the opportunity to lift the key off of you, making a copy using a wax imprint." He paused, before raising his right hand, as if he was genuinely forgetting something. "Oh, by the way, _nice magic mirror_."

"How did you know?"

"Well I was suspicious after I saw you doing odd gestures in front of it on Friday. It was this-" he pulled out an old compass and a pouch, presenting them proudly "-that confirmed it."

"What is it?"

"Well, this is a compass that allows one to find magical items and creatures of any kind. See?"

Kristina looked at the opened compass, seeing that instead of the arrow pointing north, there were two glowing arrows of light. One pointed at the mirror, and one at herself.

"Now, while I could tell you about the history of this piece, I am a man of business. I may be a virgin, but I know that the sounds coming from the room are not one makes when cleaning. If you were a man, I would have slit your throat by now. But, as it stands you are a woman incapable of impregnating my wife."

Kristina continued to sweat, as she had been in enough conversations to know that a 'but' was coming.

"But, I'm still rather troubled by you having the stomach to sleep with a man's wife. But I can be forgiving, as long as I get something in return. Otherwise, you'd be on the next boat out with nothing but the clothes on your back. _So let's see to it that I get what I want_."

He slammed his hand with a soft thud into the door frame, blocking her in and putting the two face to face.

"What _I_ want to know little sorceress, is what powers were on the Queen Dowager's amulet."

…

**Bit of Notes-**

Well, Hans' Fate is now longer than Faith and Duty now, as planned. It's been a long haul, and we got longer to go. Not much to say this time around, not really. Once again this chapter was longer than expected, as I've been meaning to get a 2K word chapter out in a 2-3 week frame to increase update speed, but well, shit happens. Here's hoping next update comes soon, fellas.

Deuces,

Dragunov


	12. Chapter 12- Schemes

September 30th, 1840

Kurzheim, the Southern Isles

Kristina stepped out, holding the bucket filled with soapy bloody water, from cleaning the abattoir after slaughtering the next week's lamb. She was headed to the drainage ditch when she felt a familiar presence. It was Lord Hans.

While she did not give him the dignity of a glance, she was able to see him all the same through the corner of her eye. He was sitting casually in the courtyard, eating his familiar breakfast food, the sandwich. She could have asked him what he was doing outside the entrance to the abattoir, but she knew the "answer" to that already. That he was just "in the area." She also knew this was false. She had noticed a distinct pattern of Hans hovering around where she worked during his off time the last few days, as she figured he was poking for answers. Either that or he wanted to say something. Or perhaps both possibilities were true. After she dumped out the rinse water and returned to the kitchen entrance, she finally decided to bite.

"What?"

"You really should tell her, you know."

"_Excuse me?"_

"Your secret. You should tell her."

"And _why _in god's name would I want to do that?"

"Well, in my experience, a major secret like this has the chance to ruin a relationship, even… discreet ones such as yours."

"Your experience? You mean the time that Anna uncovered that you were a bloodthirsty sociopath, and that you only wanted to marry her so you can steal the throne? _That _kind of secret?"

Hans swallowed the food in his mouth, before nodding full on in approval. "Yeah! _Exactly_ that kind of secret. Though to be fair, I'm not bloodthirsty. Remorseless and uncaring about human life, sure, but I don't _enjoy _killing."

"How is possessing magic the same as being an evil bastard?"

"Easy. Because like being a power hungry monster is for me, Sorcery is an inherent and key part of you. People don't like being surprised to find out that sort of thing. Especially when they find out on their own."

"Even IF I were to listen to you, what do you gain by me and Johanna having a good relationship?"

"I care because when Johanna finds out about your skills and this whole thing explodes, I'd rather not see your ass kicked off the island. You're very good at what you do. And it's just not the magic either."

Her eye twitched, as she tried to feign innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the torture dungeon you think I don't know about, the body disposal system, the "clumsy" maid that snatches things and arranges accidents, etc. etc. You are very good at the game, Kristina. But I'm _better_."

Kristina stood in reposed silence, as she knew the jig was up. There was no point in playing the helpless maid anymore.

"One of these days, I'm going to want to make use of your many abilities, magic or otherwise. And while one day I'd like to truly merge both my and Johanna's espionage programs, I can't do that if my wife's program is crippled. Which it would be without you. So for both my sake and your own, just tell her the damn truth."

With that Hans silently got up and departed for his office, as he had other work to do. Kristina stood there and watched him depart, wondering whether or not to recognize the merits of what he had to say.

_He's in it for himself, that's for certain. The real question is whether or not I should listen anyways. Either way, this will be something to think about._

October 1st, 1840

There was only one thing Hans could think to say.

"That's a lot of ceramics."

Both Hans and Johanna looked at the first large-scale production batch of the glassware of the Kurzheim Ceramics Company, which despite their astonishment was actually a small number, compared to the actual maximum output of the plant. It was done that way to ensure that if the business failed, it would incur minimal loss. Even now the plant was shut down and the workers on furlough to avoid unnecessary expenses. They'd have to receive raises to keep them happy, but if Hans had a contract by then, he could afford that. For now survival was everything.

"So, dearest wife." Hans began sarcastically. "What do you suppose we do with all this porcelain?"

"Don't play games, Hans. We both know what the next step is. Release some on the local markets, both here and the rest of the Duchy. The rest we sample out to the region with promises of low prices to secure a contract."

"Well, at least I know I didn't marry an idiot." A look that could shatter glass was his reward for that comment. "Still, I'm worried about Royal Copenhagen. They have a nice monopoly in Scandinavia, and they'll be out for blood once they figure out what's going on here."

"True. But everybody hates Royal Copenhagen for that very reason. They've grown fat and lazy, while Denmark has grown weak. The backing of the Danish Government isn't what it used to be. If we offer a good deal, we can survive. _If _we can land a good contract."

"Well, we'll talk to our contacts and get a good idea of who to ship samples to. Though I already have one customer whom I _insist _get a free sample. Though that sample will need a little altering before we ship…"

October 4th, 1840

The Kingdom of Arendal

Elsa and Anna simply stood, fuming at the small crate of porcelain sitting on the table before them. The Royal Guard had done their jobs admirably, triple checking the gift sample of plates to ensure that it wasn't some deadly device meant to kill the sisters. But while they prevented a possible physical attack, they failed to stop the mental attack they had just suffered.

For on the plates was seal of the Lordship of the man they hated most in the world, with the words Life, Liberty, and Prosperity painted on the bottom. The "hidden" message was overwhelming blatant: _I'm alive, free, and prospering. And there's nothing you can legally do about it._

Elsa maintained a stoic expression as she cursed a storm in her own mind, furious at the insult and the fact that she couldn't officially react without looking petty. Though she had a _large _number of choice words to comment on the gift, she knew better than to explode in front of her own Guardsmen. Anna though was freer to speak her mind.

"_That son of a bitch!_"

October 5th, 1840

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.

As Frederick sat quietly as the representative from the Royal Copenhagen Porcelain Company protested and made poorly veiled threats, the only thing he could think about was how easily he could kill this man with only the various blunt objects within arm's reach. Not that this man's behavior was unusual for the Danish elite.

Frederick could remember a time when Denmark could slam its fist on the table, and all the Nordic nations would shut up and listen. But that was before Napoleon. During the war the British sank damn near their whole navy, and after as punishment for joining the war on Napoleon's side a number of its holdings. Norway went to Sweden, and all the Islands except Zealand went to the Southern Isles.

Yet, now they still acted like the last 40 years never happened. They still expected that they could still throw their weight around as if they still owned the Sea of Jutland. It was sad really, as Frederick had already heard through his contacts in Sweden and Prussia that the wolves were starting to turn a hungry eye towards the wounded beast.

"… and we find the business activities of your son unacceptable! We signed a contract with you, one that clearly states that all Porcelain in the Southern Isles is to come from the Royal Copenhagen plant!"

"That's where you are mistaken, Mr. Taastrup. The agreement that we signed with your company was that all Porcelain _imports_ was to come from the Royal Copenhagen plant. The Kurzheim factory is labeled as a local business and not subject to the agreement. Not only that but the agreement expires within a month, leaving our options at this point open."

_Which is why you're here. Press me into shutting our plant down so we can sign another Danish favoring agreement._

"I think it's quite clear that this venture is a state-backed enterprise attempting to stamp out free trade in the region. And a rather obvious one at that."

"Says the representative of the _Royal _Copenhagen Company." He fought to hold in a smile after the well timed insult caused the man's face to twist in rage. "As I have mentioned many times before, I show no favoritism to the youngest of my Sons in economic matters. As before, I will judge all participants fairly in the trials next month to determine what Company gets the government contract. If Royal Copenhagen can still make the best product, I will more than happy to once again enter into a contract."

With little show of dignity, the man simply turned and stormed off with little bearing, once again showing the Dane's clear disdain of the once weaker power. But Frederick knew that the Dane wasn't the only one unhappy about the events on Kurzheim. He had heard the whispers and grumbles of the court. And it all came down to one thing. They all now _truly hated _Lord Hans of Kurzheim, for one simple reason.

He was an industrialist.

Sure, the attempted regicide and overthrow of a trusted ally was not desirable behavior, mostly due to making too many waves. After all, they all played the Game of Thrones. They all plotted and aimed to backstab each other for every possible advantage. This was the norm. They would have likely forgotten about Arendal within a year.

But becoming an industrialist was taboo. Industry threatened everything they built, and worst yet, undermined their little lies to themselves that they were good people. That they were noble for taking care of the peasants that they effectively owned. Sure, King Frederick had killed the few remaining laws that had survived Queen Ariel and King Eric that made true Serfdom legal. But on the actual fiefdoms, little had changed. People still depended entirely on the nobility for their employment, and therefore their lives.

And then comes in Industry. Started spreading such evil ideas that a man could leave his Lord's fields and make a living working in a factory. That the factories were teaching women how to read and write as to promote better production. That for the first time ever, people had _options._ Sure, the nobles were quick to point out all the horrible things that the industrialists did to make a better profit. But Frederick oddly seemed to remember that child labor, long working hours and safety violations were just as bad if not worse before industry came. It wasn't truly about nobility. It was Industry threatening their Agrarian "utopia".

So in the eyes of the court, Hans did the worse thing a noble can ever do. He betrayed the very system that he was born into.

He was a traitor to them all.

Bit of Notes-

Starting with this chapter and from this point on in all my works I have decided to begin using the real spelling of Arendelle, that being Arendal. Being a real town in Norway and the basis for the geography I use when researching, I decided to use it instead. There are differences of course as the architecture of the town takes more after the Western Norwegian town of Bergen and the appearance of the Castle after the famous Stave church, I am running my Canon as an Alternate universe in which Arendal developed differently. I do apologize if in future works Arendelle pops up, after all I imagine there will be a force of habit when writing and editing doesn't catch everything.

The chapter turned out to be quite a bit shorter than normal as a lot of the original content got cut for either pacing or to ensure that the already late chapter even got out the door. Sorry for the shortness and tardiness, but I've been incredibly busy at work thanks to a NTC rotation. The foreseeable future has us spending a good deal of time out in the field, so quick updates I cannot promise.

With Regards,

Dragunov


	13. Chapter 13- Trials (part 1)

October 12th, 1840

Kurzheim Manor

The small wooden floored and stone walled room hung still with relative silence as Hans gazed out the window onto his limited landscape. As was typical of the rocky Southern Isles, a good degree of grey had begun to set in with the fall, foreboding the coming winter months. However, as was normal in the rest of Denmark, the foliage on the limited trees had begun to turn. As such a few of the trees in the courtyard had turned gold and red, their vibrant colors standing out against the bleak grey and brown landscape.

He was waiting for Johanna to arrive after having attending to business required of the Lady of the Island. Also in the room was Kristina, who was set about on some sort of maid business, though Hans suspected she was there to try to gleam some sort of information for the former prince. He was glad she was there though, because it gave him the opportunity to talk to her.

"So, Kristina."

"Yes?" It was by this point established that they were forever passed the "M'lord" stage of relationship.

"Time's running out. What I am to discuss with Johanna, will require input from you. Of a magic sort."

Kristina gave an annoyed look, knowing that she wasn't in a good position. "I cannot say no, can I?"

"You always could. But, If this works, myself and more importantly to you, the Lady Johanna will prosper immensely. Plus, I make sure my inner circle is taken care of."

Kristina scoffed. "_Your_ inner circle?"

"Yes. It is time that my schemes and my wife's scheme become the same. To be fair, _our _inner circle would be more correct. In either case, you've proven to be more than just an asset."

"Well, this is all flattering, but what did you mean, 'time's running out?"

"I need your magic to make a plan work. And the only way I can truthfully confide my plan to Johanna is to reveal that we have a sorceress on our side."

Kristina's eyes widened. "I still haven't told her…"

"Based on the sounds coming from Johanna's room last night, I figured as much. But not to worry, I can stall- for now. But Johanna's a smart woman, she'll find out sooner or later. And for both your and her sake, she better find out from you."

An uneasy moment passed, with at least 30 ticks of the grandfather clock passing before footsteps were heard and with impeccable timing Johanna entered the room. As she was answering her husband's summon, she bore a sarcastic smirk, which became a warm smile upon seeing Kristina.

"Kristina, I wasn't expecting you. Your day is going well, I hope?"

"It is, M'lady. But I do believe your husband has business with you…"

Hans interjected, attempting to keep the both women in the room so they could hash out their business, "Johanna, it'll take but a moment. As the Lady of this island I thought it would be common courtesy to let you know that we will be entering the Royal Ceramic Trials later this month."

Johanna was taken aback for but a moment, before responding. "We're competing for your father's patronage? Are even we ready?"

"With the quality of our clay and the skill of our workers, I feel we can more than compete." Twisting his head to face Kristina, a smirk grew on this face. "Besides, I have some tricks up my sleeve."

If Johanna noticed Hans' tell, she didn't show it. She instead moved further towards the center of the room, resting her hand on a chair as she continued on. "I hope you are not referring to your father, because I seriously doubt he'll show favor."

"Don't worry, Johanna, I have plenty of assets that do not rely on my father's help." Noticing Kristina slowly moving towards the door, Hans quickly weighed pros and cons, before abruptly changed the subject matter to force the problem issue at hand. "Not all of the assets are guaranteed, but we have enough to make a difference. However, Kristina said she's had something to tell you, so now that's out of the way, I shall leave you two be."

Kristina, mere inches from the door froze in panic as Johanna turned attentively to her. The Lady was more inquisitive than usual as, Kristina rarely involved Hans in even basic household duties, let alone major news. Put on the spot, she silently cursed as Hans walked out the door with a smirk on his lips, closing the door behind him.

"Well, what do you need to tell me, Kristina?"

Kristina sighed, nearly shaking from fear as she pondered whether to lie or not. She was scared of losing Johanna's love, but the royal bastard was right. Johanna needed to know the truth. From her.

"Johanna, there's something I have kept hidden from you for a long time. Something you should know."

Johanna became puzzled. "I don't understand, Kristina what's going on?"

Kristina sighed, feeling a practical demonstration would be best. She drew a _Krone _from her pocket, laying it flat in her right palm. Closing her eyes as tears began to flow, she began to gesture with her left hand as she chanted the words that came to her in dreams, overcoming her own sobs. As such the coin began to glow blue with enough light to overpower the gas lights already lit in the room.

It took a moment for Johanna to realize what was happening, but when it did it hit like a ton of bricks. Staggering as she moved to and sat in the chair she had propped her hand on moments before, she could only look at her closest friend in absolute shock, with a hint of hurt from betrayal.

Her tears openly streaming, Kristina reopened her eyes as they briefly glowed blue before shifting back to the red eyes of someone who was crying. She would have likely have broken down if it was not for the invigorating surge she always felt when casting her magic. As upset as she was, she still felt pride in her magic after all. But paled in comparison to the shame of her own betrayal of trust to the woman she loved unconditionally.

Fighting the tightening in her throat, she could only say one thing before breaking out in sobs. "Johanna, I am so sorry…"

…

October 16th, 1840

It had been a quiet few days since the incident Hans arranged took place, not that Hans enjoyed them as an awkward silence lulled over the Manor. He feared the worst when he did not see Kristina at dinner that first night, so much so he tasked Wagner to keep an eye on the departures of the island, worried that the young sorceress might flee the island.

When she didn't leave either the first or second night, Hans was at first relieved. After all, her magic was a lynchpin in his plans, and he didn't need her running away. Plus, he hated to admit to himself, but she had grown on the self-proclaimed heartless bastard. But as the third day came and left, Hans became worried that Kristina had adopted a… permanent solution to her heart-ache and as such Hans found that third night was a sleepless night as no-one had seen Kristina. And Hans dared not ask Johanna about the matter, especially as she drifted about the manor ghost-like and lost-looking. He asked Wagner to look about the island, but that night he came back without luck.

It was near the end of the fifth day that news finally came. He was inspecting some of his finished china, looking for defects that may lead to defeat at the royal trials. Now while his ceramic products were good thanks to a number of experienced workers he had imported with generous bonus-laden contracts, but he still worried they could go toe-to-toe with Royal Copenhagen.

Just as he put down the last piece and collected his notes for the factory the door opened, revealing an extremely bitter looking Kristina. Not wearing her normal maid uniform but a rather plain looking dress, Hans mentally concluded that she had in fact been dismissed from Johanna's service, before he began to speak.

"Dear god, Kristina, what happened to you?"

"What happened?" Kristina looked livid. "Your bullshit happened! I told her my secret, and she threw me out, you prick!"

"Well, obviously. What I mean is, I've had men looking for you, and they couldn't find you. _My men. _On _this island._"

Kristina let out a single laugh. "You forget I play the game. And I know Johanna's dirty secrets, and if she wrote me off, I wouldn't put it past her to… liquidate her asset. So I took my mother and went into hiding."

"So why come to me? After all, Johanna might still have an assassin after your head."

Kristina shook her head with a sad smile. "Because, compared to me and you, she isn't even in the same league when it comes to the game of espionage. By the end of the second day my dear Johanna couldn't even leave the North Wing without my people knowing about it. She's smart, but she's none too clever in the spy business. That was my job."

She sighed, before answering Hans' initial question. "So, what was so fucking important that my life had to be torn apart?"

Hans smiled evilly, before lifting a single ceramic tea-cup. "This."

"Your ceramics. Are you fucking kidding me? You destroyed my life!"

Hans' face grew sour, and his voice stern as he began a tirade. "No, the fact that you hid a secret from the woman you loved for over a decade destroyed your life. You have more money than nine-tenths of this shit-hole of an island, and you are more than smart enough to know that at the very least, Queen Elsa would love to have another sorcerer on her staff. And besides, 'my ceramics' may finally turn around the millennia of soul crushing poverty that has plagued this island. I merely need to win one solid contract, that's where you come in."

Kristina scoffed. "How so?"

"Simple. You will ensure our ceramics are the best. So much so, that we'll blow the competition out of the water at the trials." Hans chuckled as he finished, breaking up as he finished. "And I don't think I need to tell you how that's going to work."

…

October 17th, 1840

The meeting room dinned with the noise of the large number of men speaking amongst themselves, uncertain about the future. The men and women were the experts, shift leaders, supervisors, and other leaders of Kurzheim's budding ceramics industry, they had been informed about the fact they were running for the Royal Ceramics Contract, and that worried them immensely. Most were veterans of the field, and they knew that it took time to become established and for both quality and efficiency to become the norm in any industry, especially one that was practically an art form.

And yet their top opponent had dominated the trade for decades, with a well-established production going on. It would not be an easy fight, if even possible. And unlike most of the island, most of these people were recent arrivals, and had not grown to be loyal to their new Lord. If they were anything, they were skeptical.

Still, when the doors opened, revealing Hans in a suit rather than his traditional uniform, they grew silent as he quickly moved to a stool placed ahead of time for him, so to allow the young man to address his workers. There was a lull as Hans collected himself and scanned the room to ensure that everyone was in fact there. Unexpectedly but fittingly, Johanna was in the back looking despairingly sullen and lost.

_I guess she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Well, don't I have a surprise for her._

Collected, he began to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, as you are all well aware, we have embarked on a massive undertaking. The King of the Southern Islands has issued that beginning on November 2nd, a trial will be held to ensure what ceramics company will produce all future china for the Royal Government of the Southern Isles. This, is as big of a contract as will likely ever fall into our laps."

A number of scoffs began to be heard, as well as some mumbling. And many rolled their eyes or shook their heads. Apparently 'fall into our laps' was not the proper phrase to use. But damn it all, he was committed.

"Yes, I said fall into our laps. And do you know why? Because look around, and look in the mirror! You are some of the best in the field, masters of your craft and tireless workers. In mere weeks we went from nothing to a producing factory! I didn't do this! You did! So why are you damned scared of Royal Copenhagen?"

Switching to a louder and angry voice, he continued, decrying their rival. "For too long, we have bowed to all things Dane, submissive to men who have not felt strength since the time of our grandfather's youth! Royal Copenhagen has grown soft, slow, weak and decadent! It is time for the Southern Isles to control its own factories, to make our own goods again! And I say, let it start here!"

The gathered audience responded well to the nationalistic cord, nodding in agreement with moderate clapping as well. While most were newcomers to the island, almost all were Sothern Islander who almost to a whole tired of living in Denmark's shadow. Happy to have improved morale, Hans decided to end the meeting on a high note with one last item.

"I swear to you; we will do everything we can to beat the Royal Copenhagen Plant. As such, I have hired an extremely skilled woman to act as my agent in matters of preparation for the Royal Trials: Miss Kristina Annasdatter."

Kristina walked through a door on Hans' side of the room, standing before the gathered crowd of workers. A little nervous around crowds, she smiled shyly. Kristina couldn't see over the crowd, but Johanna had heard the name and had gone white as a bedsheet, causing Hans to smirk before continuing on.

"Now no-one is losing their jobs to Miss Annasdatter, she will simply act as my agent as we prepare china for the Royal Trials. As so, in addition to keeping track of the productions process, she will carefully all china before deciding if it will go to Kesselburg or not. She's been a maid her whole life, both here on Kurzheim as well as a brief stint in Kesselburg. She knows what Royal china looks like, and trust me- she will work magic for us."

Hans smiled at his own cleverness as the workers nodded and murmured in uncertainty, a little unsure about a new superior but relatively confident in their tasks. They now had a fighting spirit and will to beat Royal Copenhagen, so with that and Kristina, victory was all but assured against the stagnating Danish ceramics giant.

_Everything is going well._

…

Holy Crap an update at long last!

I do have to apologize for the extreme tardiness of this chapter, as this chapter originally had a massive amount of material, material that I knew the outline of what I was going to write, but when it came down to it, I could only stare at the Word Document. In addition to the massive writer's block, I've also have been focusing primarily on completing Faith and Duty- Aftermath, as I will continue to do so.

As such, after I release the next chapter of Hans' Fate (which is like two-thirds done), Hans Fate will enter a Hiatus until at least Aftermath is done. I am sorry it took this long to get a chapter out announcing this, but this chapter simply would not write itself.

Thank you for your patience and understanding,

O7

Dragunov


	14. Chapter 14- Trials (part 2)

"The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of a million is a statistic." -Joseph Stalin

October 17th, 1840

Hans was peacefully enjoying his evening meal when the door of the dining room flew open, revealing a bitterly angry Johanna who launched into a tirade before Hans had any time to react.

"What the fuck were you thinking, hiring Johana? You're doing this to spite me, aren't you? Goddamnit I can't believe you!"

"Calm down, Johanna. I-" Hans interjected, before Johanna picked up a glass and threw it at the wall behind him, while continuing to yell.

"You stupid prick, shut the fuck the up! She cannot be trusted, she's, she's a-"

"A witch?!" Hans stood up, defiantly confronting his wife. "A foul sorceress? Deserving of burning at the stake? Does this all sound familiar to you, Johanna? Is this why you hate her so?"

Johanna faltered a moment, before continuing. "No! She's a lying bitch, that's why I hate her! Lying to my face for so many years! She did all of this even though we were-"

"Sharing the same bed. And yes I knew. For quite some time. But regardless, she did all of this because she _loved _you! She still does, in fact. So much so, that she's working to improve _your _island as we speak."

"How so?" Johanna asked tentatively, suspecting that Hans was planning something sinister.

"She's going to win the ceramics contest by making our china better than all the others- with magic."

Johanna's face went blank as she pieced together everything, tying Hans' guilt into the equation as Hans took a long drag from his wine, suspecting it would help when Johanna's rage would get the better of her. It took mere seconds to do so.

"You… you bastard. You knew." Johanna's anger became even greater, her eyes gleaming with hate and her teeth bared as she ground them against each other. Hans couldn't recall her ever being this angry, ever.

Still, Hans looked at her with a bald face. "I have no idea of what you are talking of."

"You found out! Even so, you _still _planned your scheme, regardless of the damage it caused to _me!_"

To this Hans only gave a guilty smirk.

"I'll play this game for now, Hans of the frozen heart!" Knowing she was on the verge of uncontrollable rage at her bastard of a husband and about to lose all self-control, Johanna decided discretion was the better part of valor for today. "I'll be in my room, you heartless swine!"

Hans sat and watched silently as she departed for her own private wing, smiling when she had left the room.

_That went as planned. Hopefully, she'll continue to see me as the culprit, and Kristina as a victim. And soon things will return to normal. _

…

October 27th, 1840

Kristina finished applying her magic to another piece of porcelain, sighing and running her hands through her fine golden hair when she finished and placed it with the other 'treated' china. They workers had delivered the last of the 250 sets of fine porcelain this morning, finishing their part of the equation. It was all finely made, certainly earning the title 'handpicked.' Kristina could easily tell that these people were certainly good at their craft and was grateful, as turning good into excellent was far less draining than turning mediocre into the same.

But draining it still was.

Kristina had never practiced so much magic before as she had the last fortnight. She liked the challenge, but she was eating as much as her stomach could hold multiple times a day and still was visibly losing weight and when she wasn't working she was sleeping. The only thing that didn't make her blow it all off was her strange love of Kurzheim, and a forlorn hope for getting back together with Johanna.

For Kurzheim, it was the closest thing she ever knew as home. She spent the better half of her childhood there, only leaving for a brief period in her late teens. Johanna's mother had discovered her daughter's 'relationship' with the maid, and was none too pleased. However displeased she was, was offset by both Kristina's and her mother Anna's skill and ability. As such, the Lady Kurzheim sent a glowing recommendation to the Royal Family of Kristina's skill, and the young girl found herself shipped off to the capital.

The capital was hardly a punishment, Kristina found out. With better pay, better education, and more freedom, Kristina took the opportunity to flourish and better herself, often in ways surprising to her. She took to the increased book learning as a matter of course, but was surprised to find that the maids and staff were heavily involved in palace intrigue themselves. Never against the Royalty, as one didn't bite the hand that fed it, but about everybody else was fair game. Johanna became quite skilled quick, and soon had a good mass of both wealth and connections thanks to the secrets she knew and favors she collected.

Even more surprising was the… special education she received. Within a month or beginning her service at the palace, her matron maid had a discreet conversation with her and shared some information with her. Apparently her sexuality was not as rare as she thought, and was much more common in the capital. So much so, there was openly secret groups where men and women who fancied the same sex could meet and… mingle. Before long, Johanna was a regular within the group that had established itself for women like her of similar class in society. And when her courtships became physical, these women knew all manner of ways to make love.

What was odd was that everybody seemed to know, but as long as it was never admitted to or paraded, people looked the other way. After all, physically speaking, Kristina was still a virgin as far as a doctor was concerned. It was living a lie, but it was a more liberating environment than the backwater of Kurzheim.

But despite it all, that backwater was home. She missed the rustic island, her mother, and Johanna. And before long both the old Lord and Lady of Kurzheim passed and Kristina returned home.

Her reminiscing was interrupted by the opening of the door to her 'office', which Kristina knew meant Hans, as only he had the audacity to enter without knock. She turned about, her eyes confirming her thought process when they saw the suit clad Hans.

"Finally assuming the role of industrialist, Hans?"

"Hmm?"

"The suit. That's a new suit, much like a number of other new suits I've seen you wear. And you haven't worn your old uniform in over a week."

"Well, yes. I did think it's time for me to switch over. After all, no noble uniform is going to change the fact that the royal court hates the living shit out of me for 'selling out.'" Hans explained, sure to make quotation signs with his fingers. "Anyways, how is it coming?"

Kristina spun about, gesturing to the less than half a dozen sets of fine china left. "Very well. I'll easily be done early tomorrow, if not tonight."

"Excellent. Tomorrow we'll begin packing and shipping these to Kesselburg. Then we'll leave as well."

"We'll?"

"Myself, Johanna, yourself, and a small staff. Johanna needs to be there by social convention, and I need you in case there is a mix-up with the magic."

Kristina's demeanor worried, clearly nervous about facing Johanna again. Hans smiled as warmly as he could, something he was skilled at. "Don't worry about it. Also get some sleep, Kristina. You need it."

…

Oct 29th, 1840

Forladtnr Docks, Kesselburg, the Southern Isles.

Hans stood on the damp dock, as the clouds that had just showered the tiny island with rain loomed over head as was common in the Southern Isles, adding to the solemn mood. Before him was a new Steam paddle ship, the _Kong Neptuns, _loaded with the porcelain as well as other passengers for the capital Kesselburg.

Most aboard were fairly nervous, as not only was this a fairly new technology to the people of Kurzheim, but most had not been to the capital before and were a little intimidated. But for Hans, it was a major moment of doubt. A good chunk of his assets and capital had been sunk into this venture, and while he was fairly sure he could at least profit at this point, his goals was much higher. He didn't want to just make a living, he wanted financial mastery. And this contract represented his second and most likely last great gamble for power.

And the fact that it was the second wasn't lost on him. Even now, Arendal hung over him as much as the seemingly always overcast skies did, haunting him with its failure. He came so close to being a King, possibly a great one, only to come crashing down. His poor decisions haunted them, less from morality and more due to their outcome. Hans had become slightly timid, more cautious at going at it all again. So much so that the fallen Prince had not even remotely considered vengeance against Arendal, though other issues factored in.

After all, he had a frozen heart. Therefore, revenge was an odd concept to the Lord. He bore no serious ill will against Queen Elsa and Princess Anna. Make no mistake, while he would have happily killed them to achieve his dreams, they were no longer in his way to power and as such didn't concern him. Sure, he liked to occasionally mess with them to keep them on their toes, but he had no real vendetta to pursue.

But while he bore no dreams of vengeance, Arendal still haunted him so. Not from guilt, but from shattered confidence. Before, Hans considered himself unstoppable when it came to intrigue, especially against the sleepy back water of Arendal. After, well, not so much.

So Hans stood on the dock, unsure of the future, which did not give him a good feeling on the matter. But, it was already decided now. He had put too much work, too much capital, too much intrigue to turn back now. As it was, the dice had already been cast, to turn back now was to forfeit even before the dice had stopped tumbling.

He looked down at the parchment in his hand, reading the bottom again.

… _and due to the legitimate nature of your entry into the trial for the Royal Porcelain Patronage, I have decided to grant you leave to visit Kesselburg for a period not exceeding 3 days after the conclusion of the trials. Whether or not you are permitted to visit the Royal Palace will be determined once you arrive._

_ -His Royal Majesty, King Frederick of the Southern Islands._

Hans sighed, before sliding the document into his suit jacket pocket. It was time to see how the dice would land.

…

Kesselburg, the Southern Isles

As the _Kong Neptun _steamed toward Kesselburg while darkness fell, King Frederick prepared to sit down for his evening meal. Like most days, the King ate his dinner with just whatever family had gathered in the Capital, a tradition dating back to camp life during Napoleon's wars. Back then, a late evening dinner with his wife and young children always had the potential to be his last on earth with a battle waiting for him the next day, so he always took the opportunity to spend time with them. After the war ended, Frederick was simply used to it and kept it going, always making a point to have official dining ins during lunches or breakfast, never dinner.

For today, the large table that housed 16 found itself sitting two. Frederick sat where he always sat, while the child gracing the table with their presence was his youngest, Princess Athena. The fraternal twin sister of Hans, Athena was named after both the Greek goddess as well as Melody's maternal Grandmother. The latter was described to Frederick often as a warm, kind and wise woman, and Athena certainly was this, so much that more than once she was described as her twin brother's opposite.

Athena was physically very similar to her twin, however. She had many of the same features, merely feminine. So much so, that to an acute observer her traits highlighted Hans' genetics having borrowed much more from his mother's family than his; as Athena looked very similar to her mother and grandmother. While her hair color was less fantastic as Queen Ariel's vivid red, the reddish brown was not something found in Frederick's family of blondes. Just about the only thing that Frederick could claim as his was her eyes. Like most of his family, Hans and Athena were born with blue eyes that turned green with age.

But in terms of spirt, his only daughter was the best of both families. Athena combined a warm empathetic soul of her mother with the tireless work ethic and rationality of himself to create a true philanthropist. As such, the Princess Athena spent most of her time travelling the Southern Isles and nearby Scandinavia always looking to make a difference. Her latest exploit involved helping Queen Elsa's war-torn Arendal, a cause Frederick was more than happy to support. Today however, the conversation was closer to home.

"So father, how is Hans?"

Frederick finished chewing his food, before responding curtly. "He is fine, Athena." It was not a fond topic for the King.

"I heard he's coming home." She added, fishing for information.

"He is. He's entering into the porcelain patronage trial, nothing more."

"Good." She said, rather coldly, casting her eyes down.

Frederick felt unease, as this was very unlike Athena, though he knew why. Unlike his other brothers, Hans and Athena always got along and were very close, all the way up to Arendal. Athena, always believing in the best of people, especially her twin brother at first denied it all, before feeling very betrayed by Hans. The following months did not help. Months in Arendal immersed Athena in an environment of intense hatred of the former Prince, which helped cement her feelings of betrayal. This was not something Frederick was pleased with, or wished to continue.

"He never meant to hurt you, Athena."

She looked at her father, with a sober look. "I know. The problem is Hans would hurt just about anyone else."

He couldn't argue. Hans was always a statistician first and foremost, a cold blooded one at that.

She shook her head. "I just never understood it. You, myself, mother, maybe Alexander, he would never as much risk our disapproval. But from what I was told, he left Anna to die, and _he smiled at her!_" She paused, returning to look at her father. "How are you so calm about that?"

"I don't know, Athena. He's my son, and I love him. But I feel I made him into what he was in Arendal. He's probably the smartest of all of you, but he was born the last son. He was desperate to be great, and I certainly never discouraged that. He must have felt that Arendal was his ticket to a throne and glory. And one thing I must add is, Hans wasn't cruel about any of it. He wasn't glad to have left Anna to die or to kill Queen Elsa. He was smiling because of his own cleverness for the former and smiling because victory was within his grasp. Hans wasn't cruel or sadistic. He was simply disregarded the value of human life in the greater scheme."

Athena grimaced in bafflement. "How does that make it any better?!"

"Once, a senior officer gave me some advice: that to be a good soldier required one to love the army, but a good commander must be prepared to order the death of the thing he loves. A cruel man or leader is never desirable, neither is an overly kind leader. For both let emotion cloud their judgement. But a cold hearted one, a man who looks at a thousand as mere statistics, while pursuing the greater good… he can truly rule and achieve greatness. What the Arendaler people didn't tell you was that Hans was a model leader during the great freeze in Elsa and Anna's absence. As I continue to believe that Hans could one day be a fine King, or at least leader."

Athena looked puzzled. "But you made it so he could never inherit the crown."

"That I did. Just as I could one day undo it, if he becomes the sort of man I want him to be. Or perhaps he'll simply make a fine Lord or perhaps Duke, when Alexander become King. It's always good to stay flexible, after all. Now, let us eat our food before it becomes cold."

What Frederick didn't say was he hoped Hans would become that man, as while he would never tell his children so, but he felt that Hans was the most qualified to rule when he was gone. And while Arendal disrupted that thought, the old King still saw more potential in Hans than any of the other brothers.

_Perhaps there will be a King Hans one day, after all._

…

Bit of Notes-

So yeah, this is turning into the never-ending chapter apparently. Once again, I found myself having to split one chapter into two as I didn't want to make the chapter overly long, and I wanted to release this in a timely manner. Well, somewhat timely. The next chapter should be the last before the hiatus, but no promises.

O7,

Dragunov


	15. Chapter 15- Trials (part 3)

October 30th, 1840

Kesselburg, The Southern Isles

It was a foggy fall morning when Hans stepped onto the dock with his entourage, which was hardly an unusual phenomenon wherever you were in the Southern Isles, as the rocky islands naturally drew in mist and clouds. What was a nostalgic return for the young industrialist was the smell. Whereas Kurzheim's small dock of Forladtnr carried the strong smell of Salt, wet rope and netting and fish; Kesselburg had become industrialized. Smoke, coal, and metal smells overtook him, reminding him of one very simple fact.

He was home.

The bittersweet moment didn't last long as Border Guard troops quickly moved to meet them. With their blue great coats slick with ocean mist and collars turned up, the waterfront based troops hardly would have impressed any officer's inspection. But Hans knew better than to trust them by their appearance, as some of his past ventures caused him to learn that their eye-sight was sharp, and their pens unforgiving.

The leader of the pair of Guardsmen, a Corporal with brown stubble and weathered skin hinting at a lifetime spent by the sea, produced a black ledger. "What's your business and cargo, Mister…?"

"Westergard. I have a party of six, including myself. We are here to participate in the Royal Ceramics Contract, and our cargo consists of personal luggage and two hundred and fifty sets of fine china. Here's my paper work."

The Corporal took the parchment, flipping through the pages quickly as he scanned the vital sections, looking for any obvious discrepancies. It was obvious when he got to the part involving his name. "Huh." He spent a moment or two finishing scanning, before looking back up at the former prince. "Your paper looks to be in order, Mister Westergard. Though I didn't need to know what proper papers look like to determine you're legit."

"How so?"

"Because only a fool would pretend to be you. Between Arendal and your factory, there's a number of pretty powerful people who would love to see ill of you."

Hans nodded. "Well, _that _sounds about right."

"It says here you brought your wife and her lady in waiting, as well as a bodyguard and two servants?"

"Yes. That's true." Well, it was true technically. Hans knew that he was unpopular at the moment, so his two 'servants' were really mercenaries hired to do the job, given that he was only permitted one bodyguard when he was in the Capital. Both had been given crash courses in etiquette over the past few weeks, so they would perform their duties as expected. As for his actual bodyguard, Schwarzkopf had picked out the current man, a recently discharged soldier who stood well over six foot and had excellent bearing.

The border guard didn't show whether or not he fell for the ruse (likely not caring even if he didn't) before returning his paper work to Hans. "Move on to the main building, Mister Westergard. There your paperwork will be inspected while we offload and inspect your cargo and luggage. Good day."

Hans nodded and stuffed his parchments into his suit pocket, before turning to his entourage. The two servants had stayed behind to assist with the cargo, leaving just Johanna, Kristina, and the bodyguard. The bodyguard was naturally in a sentry's posture, while interestingly enough Johanna and Kristian stood close to each other, relaxed and familiar, as they had before the sorceress's secret had come out.

Hans smiled. _Good. Now they are back together and the schism has been averted._

"Let's go Ladies. We have a long day ahead of us."

…

October 31st, 1840

Kesselburg, the Southern Isle.

It took almost an entire day for Hans and his group to make it through customs, leaving only enough for them to arrange for the ceramics to be secured. Luckily, the Customs service was handling that, as King Frederick had stipulated that all the contestants would keep their ceramics in one common warehouse, to ensure a balanced playground and to prevent sabotage. After all, no-one dared kill the King's men, and risk the entire trial being cancelled. After that, it was to Hans' apartment building.

Now while Hans had liquidated as many of his holdings in the capital as possible, some he simply couldn't for a variety of reasons. In this case, it was because it wasn't his to sell. As the Southern Isles wasn't a big or particularly wealthy nation, that meant that overly upgrading the Royal Castle wasn't truly an option. As such, there was only so much room to go around, and so many rooms for the children of King Frederick. And by the time Athena and Frederick had become grown, there simply wasn't room for them to be granted a suite suited for their status. As such, they were granted apartment buildings nearby as permanent guest lodging. So while the apartment was all to his own, he didn't have the deed to actually sell it.

So it was a little weird as he entered his old home for the first time in months, the smell of dust entering his nostrils as he looked upon all the sheeted furniture, what little of it remained.

_Guess I should not have dismissed the maid after all. To be fair I wasn't expecting to return so quick…_

Johanna entered, taking in the view. "So this is where you lived?"

"Yes, this was my evil lair, back in the day."

Johanna sniffed in derision. "Doesn't have a lot of flair to it, does it?"

Jumping in, Kristina added as she looked about the apartment. "Yeah, it almost looks like a normal place."

Smiling slyly, Hans added. "Well, I wasn't exactly advertising back then. But if you wouldn't mind, I have a number of ideas to make Kurzheim look all manners of sinister."

_Nice to see their snark is back. It's almost as if they are their old selves again. Let's see._

As Kristina gravitated back towards Johanna, as she normally did, Hans picked up his personal luggage and moved towards his old bedroom. "Now if you'll excuse me I'll be in my room, with the double bed."

Johanna raised an eyebrow. "Wait, double bed? Where is Kristina staying?"

"In the guest room. I have two with nice single beds, one for Kristina, one for the Bodyguard."

There was an awkward pause, before Hans followed up to his own statement. "Don't worry, I'm sure you and Kristina will have plenty of room to make love to each other on her bed, as I'm sure you are both eager to reenter your relationship."

The two women looked at each other and blushed before looking away.

"That's what I thought. Now I'll be in my room, unpacking." He walked over to his door, before pausing. "Oh, Johanna, if you have trouble sleeping, by all means, feel free to join me in my double bed."

Johanna scoffed, her face swelling in anger. "And what makes you think I won't simply consign you to the couch and take the bed for myself?"

Hans gave a low, guttural chuckle. "And if I don't you'll what? Not sleep with me for a few months? That wasn't on the table to begin with, so I think I'll enjoy stretching out as compared to letting the two of you ruin my bed. Goodnight."

...

Hans laid alone in his twin sized bed, working on some paperwork when he heard a knock on the door. Based on the sound, it was a taller, stronger man. Likely his bodyguard or servants, but as always, he made a mental note of where his pistol was stowed. "Come in."

The door opened, revealing his servant flanked by a uniformed Army messenger, carrying a sealed parchment. "Message for you, M'lord."

"Thank you soldier. You are dismissed."

The soldier clicked to attention, responding with a quick "Sir" before turning to the door. The servant then passed off the parchment to Hans, before stepping back. "Is there anything else you need, M'lord?"

"That'll be all, Svensen."

The servant nodded, and left as Hans inspected the parchment. Inspecting the sealing wax, the signet was a dead giveaway, as it was the very familiar seal of his father. Opening it at once, he flipped the parchment about to inspect its contents.

_Hans,_

_You are hereby invited to a private dinner at the royal palace tomorrow evening at 6 PM sharp. It is to be a personal family dinner, so come alone with this document. Dress sharply._

_Signed,_

_King Frederick of the Southern Isles._

Hans nodded, before neatly folding up the parchment and placing it on his nightstand. "Better tell Svensen to prepare one of my suits first thing tomorrow, then."

…

November 1st, 1840

"Right in here, M'lord. The King will be here to see you momentarily."

The servant bowed and left closed the door behind Hans, leaving him alone in the old stone room that served as the dining room in the old castle. Unlike the bright sunny ballroom that dominated the main floor of the castle, this room was smaller and more personal, dating back to a time that a respected Christian Jarl only needed to seat a few dozen courtiers at his hall. Frederick found it to be snug and Spartan, so he made it to be the family's dining hall.

It always seemed smaller than he remembered. It always did.

Hans walked into the old dining room of his childhood castle home, the history of it all washing over him like a wave. While he had nostalgia for the royal apartment that was his first real personal space, it was in these halls that he was formed, for better or worse.

It was here that he yearned for a place all of his own.

As he approached the table, he noted the table had three sets of silverware placed, which piqued his interest. One was for him and one for his father, but who was the third person? His older brother Alex was not in town, and just about everyone else had disowned him. Who still cared to dine with Hans?

At the far side of the room, away from Hans, the door opened to reveal the court's chamberlain. Stepping to a place to the side and snapping to attention, the man carried out one of his many daily duties.

"All rise for the King!"

Hans suppressed a snicker as he was the only one in the room, but good discipline had him click to a position of attention. Still, he cast his eyes alone to the entrance, where his father entered as expected. The old war horse motioned for Hans to carry on, before turning about back towards the door. As Hans relaxed his stance, he thought who or what could be following, when the answer was revealed to him.

Through the door at a slow, crawl of a walk, came his mother, Queen Melody.

A cold chill ran down Hans' spine as it occurred to him that this would unlikely be some random familial get together if his mother had left his sick bed to see him. After all she had been stricken with Polio, and while she had been recovering, she was still all but paralyzed. And yet, down the stairs she came. Slow, yes, but steady and not one hint of the pain that must have racked her.

And thus lie another well regarded truth of the Westergards. While their Grandmother Ariel was a menace they all feared, Ariel was nothing compared to Melody when their mother was wrathful. For Melody made of much, much harder stuff.

Everywhere their father had been, their mother had been too. From the meat grinder of Iberia to the killing fields of Germany and Belgium, their mother was in cannon range of the battlefield, living no better than any other impoverished officer's wife. More than once she went in after dark to the often still active battlefield to find her love when he was wounded, and during the battle that cost Frederick his arm it was Melody that found him and brought him back to the surgeon.

But yet despite having living a very hard life, Melody was the model of charity and kindness, at least against those that had not done her wrong. For those that had, well, she was the model of bearing a velvet glove, iron hand approach to social interaction.

Ariel may have been made of iron, but it was Melody who was the true steel.

…

Hans quietly ate his food in silence, as not a word had been spoken in the period since they had sat down at the dinner table. That had been over half an hour ago. Working up a bit of courage, Hans looked up from his plate, to his parents. His father ate his meal in feigned innocence, clearly avoiding stepping on his wife's toes, clearly indicating who the mastermind of this whole plan was. So it was no great surprise that Melody's steel gaze was waiting for his, causing a momentary panic and forcing his eyes back down to his plate again.

Another brief moment of silence followed, before Melody decided that the ice needed to be cracked.

"So Hans, I see you have chosen a suit as compared to your uniform. I thought you loved that uniform."

Hans paused, thinking up a proper response. "I… did. But it no longer suited me."

Melody put down her fork. "How so?"

"Well, with my transition into capitalism, I am no longer a model officer of the nobility, am I?"

Melody gave a kind smile, which with her could mean a great many things.

Hans paused, shame nagging on him to be truthful to his mother as he had always been. "Also, Arendal may have something to do with it."

Still smiling, Melody responded. "Yes, It may have had something to do with it." She shifted to a more somber look, staring deeply at her son. "Why?"

Hans was taken aback by what perceived to be the obviousness of the question, stammering a response. "Well, naturally the nobility doesn't respond well to regicide, so-"

"No Hans. I'm not asking you why you think the nobility found your actions questionable. I'm asking you, _why?_"

Hans' lower lip quivered. "I…" He thought back at when he decided to go after Arendal, and what exact thoughts drove him. At least, he tried. "I… don't know why exactly. I wanted to be King and to have my own place. And well, I never stood a chance here. One day I decided to marry into a Royal Line, the next it seemed I was in Arendal doing what I did."

"Was being just our son so bad?"

"No! It's just… I _knew _I could be greater than what I was. I _Knew _I could be a King in a way to make father proud. I figured if I was King, then I would have escaped his shadow. I would be my own man. Anything less than that would be riding father's coat tails, regardless of whether I joined the Military, the diplomatic service or government."

Silent but attentive, Frederick grimaced as his suspicions had been confirmed: that he was partly responsible for the actions of Arendal. He suspected, and was all but sure, but hearing from the horse's mouth was a kick to the stomach.

Melody for her part shook her head. "Tell me Hans, when you planned all of this, what did you plan of the Royal sisters?"

"I was informed by spies that Anna was secluded, lonely, and desperate for companionship. So I determined she was my way in. Upon marriage, Elsa would have to be removed from the picture. Abdication would be preferred as it would be less suspicious but…" Hans felt deep shame now that he was confessing to his mother, similar to the way one felt if you were to curse in front of your grandmother. "… but I had plans in place to arrange an accident."

"If this was all to earn our respect, did it occur to you that we may have been similarly disgusted once you became King?"

"It did. Firstly, that would have come into play only if the plan had gone so far awry, which as foolproof as I made that plan, I didn't consider to be a major possibility. And secondly, even if I did, I guess I would have followed Machiavelli. I wasn't craving admiration; I was craving respect."

"But it did go awry, Hans. And now you've lost our admiration, _and_ our respect."

"Well, to be fair, I don't think _anyone _saw magic coming. After that it was all on the fly, and my schemes failed. So yes, I guess I have lost your admiration and respect."

"You seem awfully calm about it."

"I do. Perhaps it was more about the test than the prize, after all. I wondered If I could fly on my own. Now I know." Hans chuckled to himself.

"And yet here you are, entering into the ceramics trial. If you've knew that without your father you couldn't fly, why test yourself again?"

"But mother, who said I knew I couldn't fly?" His appetite sated, regarding both stomach and closure, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and tidied up his setting at the table. "Now if you'll excuse me, mother and father, I shall return to my ceramics."

Neither Melody or Frederick spoke as their youngest son stood and turned for the door, waiting until he reached the door when Melody responded. "Hans… your father and I have discussed it before this dinner and we both determined that magic is what doomed you in Arendal, and you've never been one to repeat mistakes."

Hans froze in place, responding tentatively. "Yes, that is more or less true,"

"Well, Arendal taught you respect for magic, as I'm certain it did for a good many people." She paused, before carefully continuing. "So we must ask, you wouldn't happen to be using sorcery to win the ceramics trials, are you?" Despite her tone, Hans knew it wasn't a question.

A chill ran down his spine as he turned about and gave his most genuine false smile. "Of course not, Mother."

His mother also smiled, reminding Hans that she never quite mastered a fake smile "Good. That's a relief to hear, Hans."

Still smiling, Hans left the room.

…

November 2nd, 1840

As scheduled, the trials proper began the next morning, with the contestants gathering in the Castle's ballroom along with a number of courtiers. The official reasoning was to ensure all the contestants would be gathered in on place to ensure the winner, though just about everyone knew that the second reason was to take an additional step to prevent sabotage as the entire official party was required to attend. As such, Hans, Johanna, Kristina and their entourage waited quietly in the ballroom for the official ceremony to start.

Despite the rocky start, the three were back to a relatively good relationship, at least as good as the three got. Now that the two women were back in each other's arms thanks to Hans taking the blame, Johanna and Kristina seemed to be adapting a 'no harm no foul' attitude to the whole debacle, with all parties' tensions relaxing even in the hustle-bustle of the capital and the less than ideal arrangements of Hans' apartment. So while the sarcasm and bickering still carried on, things were relatively back to normal.

So as it was, Hans stood appearing calm and relaxed in the ballroom scanning the opposition, while Johanna and Kristina made merry and took the opportunity to partake in foodstuff that was simply not available in Kurzheim. For Hans, keeping mentally busy distracted him from the one thing that bothered him- his parents' comments the previous night. They knew he used magic, there was no way around it. But so far the hammer had not dropped on him… yet. Hans didn't like the wait, he rather they just come out and announce who won or disqualify him then and there, because at the moment he felt completely without control of a situation.

The last time he felt this way was in the dungeon. Before that, Arendal.

Needless to say, he did not like this feeling. So once again he distracted himself by looking about at his rivals. First and foremost was Royal Copenhagen, the Danish giant in ceramics. At least they used to be. While they were hardly dead yet, their goods were no longer guaranteed to beat the smaller shops.

As for the smaller shops, the second largest in the competition was Lillesand Glassworks, an Arendaler company that while was primarily a glass producer, had recently begun to manufacture fine china. Now while Royal Copenhagen represented stagnation and decadence, Lillesand was the energized underdog. Untouched during the Tryggvason revolt, the industry represented a well needed economic break for the still troubled Arendal. They would have certainly have given it their all, plus it was currently an open secret that Queen Elsa had decorated some of the China with her magic, to give it some extra flair. Not enough to threaten him, but a bonus to be sure.

All that was left was the small workshops that were scattered across the Southern Isles which also entered into the competition, many of them having painstakingly produced a surplus of ceramics for months to meet the requirements of the competition. They prayed that luck would land them the patronage, or at the very least a contract or two.

For that was the other major group in attendance, was prospecting buyers of fine china, who came to the Southern Isles to make a good deal, as after the ruling had been made, samples would be displayed of all of the competition so that buyers could browse and possibly buy the various sets of china. For the best would walk away with numerous contracts and orders to fill. For the less lucky, at the very least they would at least get some _Krone _for all of the china they made.

All in all, Hans had little to worry about thanks to the magic, assuming his goods weren't dismissed for that very reason. It was going to be a long wait.

…

King Frederick had waited patiently in an adjacent room for the results of his handpicked inspectors for over an hour when finally, the chief of the endeavor entered the room, bowing slightly after closing the door.

"Well?"

"Your Majesty, I must report that without a shadow of a doubt, Kurzheim Ceramics is the winner of the competition."

King Frederick's face remained calm, with a twinge of disappointment upon hearing the news. Knowing the King had wished to look impartial, the Chief began to explain.

"I know this was not the desired result, your Majesty. But from an unbiased perspective, his goods won. I personally checked it out for myself to confirm, and his are just better, sire. More durable, more vibrant colors, a better sheen, even better heat insulation. If you must know, Lillesand is the second best, and Royal Copenhagen a close third if you wish to disregard Kurzheim, your majesty."

Frederick thought for a moment on his courses of action, none of which were great to him personally. The first was to go with the actual best ceramics, that of his son. While he was the best, he was certain he cheated with magic, plus there was the fact that it would appear to be favoritism no matter what he did. It wasn't the end of the world, but still. Second, was to pick Lillesand. While Arendal could use the contract, ethically it didn't feel right to deny his son the win for using magic when Lillesand had all but confirmed that Queen Elsa decorated the china produced there with her ice. Which left the third choice: Royal Copenhagen. He had no desire to deal with them again, as he was working to shed the long standing subjugation of the Southern Isles by Denmark. A key part of that was economic independence.

Thus, he decided. "No, we'll go with the best china. We'll go with Kurzheim."

"As you wish, your Majesty."

Frederick sighed, already mentally trying to figure out how to do damage control.

_Why couldn't have Arendal just won outright?_

…

"…And thusly I am happy to announce the top contestants in this competition."

Hans stood with bated breath, as he had since his father emerged from a door a few minutes prior to announce the winner of the patronage. Of course first he had to thank everyone involved as well as praise the spirit of the entrepreneur, as after all, without the cooperation of the trade guilds, this was all impossible. Now he was about to mention the honorable mentions, in which included the winner. This was to steer business towards the runner-ups as well as soothe hurt feelings.

"The top ceramic producers are as follows: Lillesand Glassworks."

A highly respectable round of applause was heard, as everyone loved a noble underdog, and Arendal was certainly that right now. Win or not, Hans had a feeling they were to have a lot of business steered their way.

"Royal Copenhagen."

This was merely a polite, but very unenthusiastic round of applause. Nobody loved Royal Copenhagen, but nobody wanted to step on the toes of the Danes either.

"And Kurzheim Ceramics."

Silence, for a good several seconds. But just when Hans had accepted their petty insult, a number of men began clapping. Turning to look, he recognized them to be a number of Capitalists and Industrialists who had come to do business. Likely they saw Hans as an ideal ally, a dream come true: an industry friendly noble.

"And finally, the winner of the trials and the recipient of the Royal Patronage… is Kurzheim Ceramics. Congrat-"

Hans gasped a massive sigh of relief, his pent up anxiety lifting off of him like a shed rucksack full of sand while the gathered noblemen reacted with disgust to the news that their black sheep had won. A number left in disgust, and more beginning to boo the news altogether. It took but for a moment for Frederick's steward to tire of it.

"SILENCE, YOUR **KING **SPEAKS!"

The stern voice startled them, and before any could protest any further, a number of Royal Guard stepped up, clearly there to forcibly escort any further troublemakers from the room. Back in control, Frederick finished.

"As I was saying Congratulations to the workers, managers and owners of Kurzheim Ceramics for their auspicious win, and I wish them luck in the future. Good Evening."

As King Frederick left the proverbial spotlight, the ballroom once again milled with activity as clients immediately moved to make deals and earn money. A good many went to Lillesand's representatives, likely out of either charity, diplomacy, or good old fashioned spite. Most of the rest went to Royal Copenhagen. As such, Hans found only a small number of Capitalists making their way to him, hands outstretched. A little numb with victory, he was a little slow to outreach his own hand.

The first to grasp his hand was an elderly man, who spoke with a Northern English accent. "Good show, lad."

"Thank you, Mister…?"

"Mister Sean Archer, owner of a number of textile mills across England, based in Yorkshire." He paused, letting go of his firm handshake. "And you've just became one of us now."

"Pardon?"

"You're an industrialist now, probably one of the most hated creatures in the world. But don't worry, we take care of our own."

Hans smiled knowingly. "From what I've heard that's less than true."

"Well, we amongst our own regions it's true that we can be quite cutthroat. But at the end of the day, we're all in the same boat. And you my friend, are more than welcome aboard. You see, we need a noble to be our spokesman and man in the ring politically. To represent all of us, at least in the Southern Isles"

Hans chuckled. "I'm hardly the most loved Prince at the moment, in case you haven't noticed. And I don't exactly have much power either."

"Oh don't worry about that, Lord Hans. You support us, we support you. And Lord Hans, money talks."

…

Bit of Notes-

And finally the chapter from hell comes to a close. For months, I had intended this to be the last chapter before I went on a Hiatus for this fanfic, only to find it becoming three chapters eventually. But it is finally complete. Yay for me.

As of now, the focus goes entirely into aftermath in an effort to finish that story for good, and from then on, who knows? I have a basic idea for the next bit of Hans Fate, but it may be a while before I work on it again. So to those of you following me, don't expect much for a long, long while.

O7,

Dragunov


End file.
